


lady stardust (sangs his songs)

by kagscloud



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, atsumu and hinata own a coffee shop, hinata is the cutest singer, kageyama is bad at social things, oikawa and iwaizumi r good senpais
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagscloud/pseuds/kagscloud
Summary: Kageyama's gaze falls on a small figure.Any effect the alcohol had on him falls away at an instant and sobriety hits him in the face.He lets out an audible gasp.For there, standing alone on the dirty stage, adjusting the mic slowly, stands the most captivating person Kageyama has ever seen.---au in which Hinata is a very talented musician and Kageyama is a very socially inept gay.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	1. the first glance

**Author's Note:**

> hii! 
> 
> k finally i have wrote up all the chapters for this multi chapter fic. seeing as this was my first time ever venturing into the scary realm that is longer fics, i struggled a bit with keeping up with it lol. plus most of this story was written in the ungodly hours of the morning so who knows how i've survived. 
> 
> having said that, i hope u enjoy this lil story of mine. it's around 30k words split into 6 chapters and i'll be updating it regularly seeing as it's all written up already. 
> 
> happy reading <333

Some people thrive in social situations. Crowds, loud chattering, booming music, all of it excites them. The bustle of people, sweaty, drunk, loquacious people, only mean new friends, new conversations, new stories. Extroverts flood to those raucous parties, with dazzlingly bright lights and thundering beats that reverberate right into your bones, like moths to a flame. Some people just thrive in social situations. 

Kageyama is not one of those people. 

He is already habitually uncommunicative in regular, day-to-day scenarios. Mindless chatter bores him to no end, loud laughter gives him a headache and he believes that every annoying, head-splitting, tiresome little extrovert deserves the electric chair. 

Therefore, heading out to a bar on a Saturday night and having to endure hours and hours of tipsy, rowdy strangers and abysmally poor live music on some pathetic stage sounds like Kageyama’s worst nightmare. 

Yet somehow, by the power rested in Oikawa Tooru and his vicious ways of blackmail, this is the exact situation he finds himself in presently. 

So here he is, plastered so tightly between the two solid figures of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, unable to escape as they stand at the entrance of some dumb bar. He grimaces in disgust as the horrendous notes of the bar’s live band pierces his ears. 

He can’t think of a more pitiful, torturous way to spend his birthday. 

Oikawa glares at him, a sickly fake beaming smile smeared on his face. “Stop frowning. We’re celebrating our darling little Tobio-chan becoming even more of a big boy!”

Kageyama says nothing, but fixes him the most loathing look of abhor he could muster. 

He curses the day he decided to take up their offer of rooming with them when he moved to the city, after accepting a sports scholarship from the nearby college. Although the apartment is quite big and relatively cheap, and they each get their own room (although the walls are a little too thin for Kageyama’s liking; he has to endure all the noises coming from Oikawa’s bedroom when a new guest comes to visit) and he does actually, deep inside, quite enjoy living with the pair, he still regrets the decision with every inch of his heart for leading him to this exact moment. 

But, before he even has time to register anything, he is forcefully pushed inside. 

The first thing he notices, as his eyes adjust to the bright lights of the blaring indoors, is the sheer size of the crowd. There are people everywhere. Milling around every table, clamouring about after every bartender, filling up nearly every square foot of floor space. The whole room seems alive; it’s a mutiny of too many conversations and too many clinking of glasses and too many missed notes of the next tedious song the band has decided to play. It’s overwhelmingly busy; there barely seems enough space to even breathe. 

He blinks. 

He feels himself being pulled through the tight stitching of the crowd by Oikawa’s firm grasp on his wrist as the older man audaciously barges past whoever necessary, ignoring the uproar he creates to get to the bar. Iwaizumi presses up close behind them, murmuring sharp apologies to all those Oikawa must have knocked. 

Oikawa, with his unnervingly good luck and the grace of god, manages to locate 3 bar stools next to each other amid the heaving uproar. He sits triumphantly down in the middle one. 

“A success,” he grins, leaning into Iwaizumi as he too takes a seat. Iwaizumi just tuts at him, before gesturing for a bartender and gruffly ordering 3 drinks. 

“Bring shots too,” Oikawa begs, winking at the bartender who only blushes and scurries away. 

Kageyama sinks into his seat. He takes a minute to process everything. 

Firstly. He is incredibly uncomfortable. There is too much overwhelming chatter and loud laughter and tiresome extroverts for his brain to handle. This, simply put, is hell. 

Secondly, the seats Oikawa found are unfortunately situated a little too close to the small stage the bar has to offer. Kageyama can hear every squeak of the out of tune guitars and every missed beat of the drums. 

Thirdly. He needs some alcohol. Kageyama isn’t much of a drinker, but dire conditions such as these call for dire coping mechanisms. 

When the bartender arrives with their drinks and a line of shots, Kageyama is nearly unable to restrain himself from downing the whole lot. However, he waits politely. 

“I propose a toast.” Oikawa hands each of them a shot glass. He raises his in the air, and waits for the others to follow suit. “To Tobio-chan. We hope you have a wonderful birthday, no matter how much we despise you.”

And with that, they drink. 

The bitter liquid burns down Kageyama, sending his senses into overdrive. A warm, fuzzy feeling sets in the pit of his stomach, and he smiles in satisfaction as the noise of the bar muffles a little. 

It doesn’t take long for another shot to follow. Then another. And another. 

The bar becomes a little fuzzier as he gets a little drunker. Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchange petty little comments with each other for a while, and Kageyama makes no effort to listen. He can barely hear the band anymore, so he doesn’t even notice when they stop playing and leave the stage. 

After what feels like a good couple of hours of steadily getting more intoxicated, Kageyama somehow notices a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Where there was once roaring laughter and boisterous conversations, there is now a quiet feeling of anticipation. The room seems to be holding its breath. 

Kageyama looks around him, and notices everyone’s attention seems to be turned to the stage. He shifts in his chair and wonders what on earth has had such a profound effect on the once untamed, rowdy room. 

His gaze falls on a small figure. 

Any effect the alcohol had on him falls away at an instant and sobriety hits him in the face.

He lets out an audible gasp. 

For there, standing alone on the dirty stage, adjusting the mic slowly, stands the most captivating person Kageyama has ever seen. 

The stranger’s hair is wild and undomesticated. Like a bonfire against a sunset, there are hundreds of shades of orange in each curl; they erupt around his head in a clashing but mesmerising riot of vivid colours. There’s makeup on his face, a smudge of sparkling colour around his big hazel eyes and across his round cheeks. His eyelashes are long, irresistibly long and dark; they seem to brush against his cheeks every time he blinks into the crowd. His lips are painted with a light red tint, and Kageyama feels his chest twist whenever the stranger’s face breaks out into a beaming smile. 

He must only stand at 5’7’’ (if Kageyama is being generous) but never before has there been more life, more joy, more energy in one tiny person. 

The figure stretches out his hand and waves for silence. Soft music begins to filter through the room, although Kageyama can’t bring himself to even begin to work out from where this gentle sound originates from. Instead he watches as the orange-haired person takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and starts to sing. 

The voice that greets Kageyama’s ears is unwaveringly clear. There’s a strength behind every note; an emotion behind every tone. The singing darts, dives and soars with the music; they merge together to create an enchanting sound, blessing all those that sway under the song’s bewitching presence. 

Kageyama’s gaze never once leaves the small man on the stage. His voice is achingly beautiful, it’s layered with unfiltered joy but also a numbing loneliness; the stark juxtaposition has Kageyama enraptured. It brings out an indescribable feeling within him, a bubbling, gleaming feeling far more superior to the buzz of alcohol. 

He watches the singer’s face, studying the way his smile widens at the sight of a truly charmed audience. His body sways in time with the music and his feet tap with the beat. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes light up. 

Suddenly. Those eyes, those bright gleaming eyes, are locked with Kageyama’s. 

They stare at each other, and the man’s gaze is just as unwavering as the sound of his voice. Time distorts, people disappear, the lights dim. Everything falls away. All Kageyama can see are those deep, welcoming, brown eyes, those sparkling lids, and those black lashes. The man’s eyes seem to study his face for a little while and Kageyama swears he sees a flash of some unrecognisable emotion surge through them. His heart bursts. 

Then it’s over. The stranger turns his head away, breaking eye contact. Time begins again, and Kageyama is suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder. 

He looks up to see Iwaizumi standing above him, with a very un-sober looking Oikawa hanging off his arm. 

“Oikawa has drunk himself into a stupor, the selfish bastard,” he growls. 

Oikawa just hiccups and giggles into his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry Tobio, I think we better head back,” Iwaizumi continues, scowling at Oikawa. “We can order some food or something once we sort this stupid fucker out.”

Kageyama, still in a state of daze, just nods. He rises, and his knees seem to shake a little, but he grabs Oikawa’s arm and helps Iwaizumi support him. Together, they hobble him towards the exit. 

The singer’s voice still surges through the room, as alluring and appealing as ever. It whispers in his ear, begging Kageyama to come back, to stay and listen to it for some time longer. And he wants to stay. He wants to give in to its gentle lullaby so desperately. 

But, with a heavy heart, he throws one last glance at the hypnotic figure on the stage, before turning around and staggering out into the cold, dark air of reality. 

|| 

He returns exactly a week later. 

He returns to that bustling, overrated bar he had regarded with such abhorrence only 7 days prior. His feet just seem to direct him towards the place, as if they have minds of their own. He can’t say he’s thrilled to be back but the aching feeling of discontent that has plonked itself in his stomach the minute he left last week needs to be satisfied. So he supposes he might as well try and see if the singer is performing again. 

He’s alone this time. He lied to Iwaizumi and Oikawa, claiming he had been invited to some late dinner with a friend. The lie was blatant and obvious; they knew Kageyama, being new to the city and an unsociable little shit, had no friends other than them. But they hadn’t pressed much, and he was able to leave with nothing but a sceptical raised eyebrow from Oikawa. Kageyama suspected they were just glad for the free apartment. 

He’s a little later this time but the bar is still at a pinnacle of customers. With difficulty, he finds a seat somewhat close to the stage. The platform is empty at the moment apart from an incongruous placed mic stand and a long twisting cable that snakes its way around the edges of the stage. Kageyama tunes out the annoying conversations happening around him and orders a drink, much weaker to whatever he was drinking last time. 

He sits, and he waits. 

The stage remains empty. 

Time ticks by and still there’s no sign of the small singer. Kageyama feels oddly betrayed. He’s not sure what he expected. Fuck, he doesn’t even know why he was so affected by the performance. It’s all he was able to think about in the past week, the way the boy looked on stage, so profoundly confident and lively. Kageyama doesn’t really get emotional over such farcical things like singing, but god, that voice made him feel things on such a deep level. It was like an outer body experience. 

A sudden cacophonous giggle breaks up his thoughts. It’s as if it is right in his ear, loud and obnoxious, ringing out frustratingly. The owner of such an irritating sounding laugh seems to be sitting behind Kageyama, a good few feet away. He doesn’t look up at whoever they are but stares down at his drink, trying to focus his mind back on track. 

There it is again. God what an maddening sound. The giggler now breaks out into a nosy conversation with whoever they are sitting with, just behind Kageyama. It’s a tumultuous tumble of words; none of them seem to make sense, just a jumble of infuriatingly loud sounds, and it’s giving Kageyama a headache. 

They squawk louder and louder and Kageyama’s patience gets smaller and smaller

“Will you just keep it down?” he finally exclaims furiously. He spins around and glares down at the bothersome offender. 

His mouth hangs open. 

For the 2nd time in his life, Kageyama’s eyes meet those bright hazel ones. Except this time, instead of glittering with excitement, they are darkened with anger. 

“Excuse me?” The small singer, the very same man that has been on Kageyama’s mind since the moment he lay eyes on him last week, jumps up from his chair. “No need to be so rude.” Those bright, vividly orange curls bounce around his head as he moves. 

Kageyama’s feet seem to act of their own accord, for even when his brain screams at them to stay put, they too force him out from his seat. 

“Well, stop being so obnoxious and I won’t have to be rude,” he hears himself say forcefully, towering over the orange haired man. 

“I may be obnoxious but at least I’m not cruel.” The smaller man grits his teeth and balls his hands up into fists. 

Kageyama takes a step back. Realisation hits him. That incredible singer he saw that night, with that spellbinding presence and dazzling voice is nothing but a loud-mouthed, overzealous extrovert. 

He sinks back into his chair. 

“How disappointing,” he murmurs. 

“Disappointing?” the man challenges. “What do you mean?”

“Shou. I’m leaving.” A tired voice interrupts the disagreement. For the first time, Kageyama becomes aware of the man behind the singer. He regards Kageyama coldly, before turning to the orange haired man. 

“Are you coming or staying?” he mumbles quietly. 

“I’ll hang around here for a bit. See you Kenma.” the redhead answers softly. 

Huh. Kageyama’s heart skips a little at the way the singer’s voice sounded just there. So soft, so gentle and so affectionate. His softer tones, it seems, holds the same steady comfort as his beautiful singing. 

However, the gentleness is short-lived, for as soon as that Kenma person leaves, the short man rounds on Kageyama again. 

“Well. What did you mean by “disappointing?” he squeaks, the volume raised once again. 

Kageyama scowls at him. “It means nothing.”

“Gwaaa, you look scary when you scowl.” The man resumes sitting, and glares at Kageyama, with his arms folded. “I want to know what you meant.”

Kageyama feels an annoyance flooding into him. Of course the little brat, the very beautiful, adorable, bright little brat is persistent. He really doesn’t like him. Although looking at him makes his heart leap and his brain explode with euphoria and his eyes flash with desire, he really doesn’t like him. 

“Tell me what you meant now!” the orange brat cries. 

“Fine.” Kageyama snaps. Patience was never his virtue. 

“I just thought you would be someone amazing after I heard you sing. I’ve never witnessed something so captivating in my life, so I really thought you would be special. But it turns out you are nothing more than a frustrating little brat with a loud mouth and too much to say. Disappointing.”

He grimaces at the end of this little declaration; he hates speaking for long. He stares down at the man in front of him and he’s surprised to see shining eyes gazing at him. 

“You think I’m captiating.”

Kageyama frowns. “I think you’re annoying.”

“Annoyingly captivating,” the man returns, winking. All traces of anger seem to have disappeared from the ginger boy. 

“I called you a brat?” Kageyama can’t wrap his head around why this little angry fireball isn’t biting his head off right now, especially after such a vehement display of anger earlier. 

“You don’t really mean it though. I can tell. You think I’m captivating.”

Kageyama’s heart beats a little faster, and he curses himself for it. It’s true that this stranger is overly noisy and does have an annoyingly squeaky voice when he talks, but his mesmerising presence is still very much present. Kageyama can’t take his eyes off him. 

“I’m Hinata Shouyou,” the man beams, shuffling his chair forward. 

“Kageyama Tobio,” he retorts back shortly. 

“Gwaa, you’re so grumpy Kageyama”.

He feels himself jolt at hearing his name coming from a foreign mouth. It sounds, dare he say, almost cute. 

“So you’ve watched me sing before huh?” Hinata grins, nudging him playfully in the side. Kageyama flinches at the contact, but feels oddly doleful when Hinata pulls away. 

“Last week,” he answers. 

Recognition flashes across Hinata’s face. His eyes wander past Kageyama’s dark fringe and down to his shoulders; Kageyama feels himself heat up at being observed with such scrutiny. 

“I remember you,” Hinata finally breathes. 

Kageyama splutters incredulously. Their eyes had met for only a couple of seconds. Surely Hinata was mistaken. 

Hinata, taking in his look of disbelief, shuffles forward even closer. 

“No, I do. You were the one sitting over there.” He gestures off to his right, his small hand pointing at the exact seat Kageyama had indeed dwelled in last week. 

“I remember your really broad shoulders.” Hinata’s cheeks flame up when he says this, although despite this embarrassment, he presses on all the same, apparently unable to put on a filter. “You had this really intense stare, but you looked happy, I guess. Nice.”

A heavy pause falls between them. Hinata’s eyes bore into him, as if waiting for a snarky comment or an insult. But Kageyama can’t bring himself to say anything, vitriol or not. 

“But who knew you would end up being such a grump,” Hinata finally beams, breaking the intense silence. 

This dig snaps Kageyama out of his state of speechlessness and, upon an instinct he didn’t know he had, his hand reaches out and violently grabs Hinata’s bright orange curls, holding them tight between his long fingers. 

Hinata sputters under Kageyama’s grasp, and tries to escape. 

“Ow, that hurts Kageyama. Let go,” he screeches, squirming around in his seat.

The volume of Hinata’s cries attracts the attention of the crowd around them, and they all turn and stare at the little scene with great disgust. 

Kageyama becomes aware of the spectators and slowly releases Hinata from his grasp, his hand shaking slightly. Hinata rubs at his head, staring angrily up at Kageyama. He seems unaware of the attention they are receiving, for he forcefully says- loudly and clearly so that the whole bar could hear him- “Kageyama, you are such a meanie.”

“Shut up, dumbass,” Kageyama whispers at him, inclining his head towards all the pointed stares. He rolls his eyes as realisation hits Hinata in the face. 

There’s a bartender in front of them now, and he clears his throat. Both men jump a little, before bashfully looking up at him. The bartender scowls at Kageyama but his features soften as he regards Hinata, apparently with familiarity. 

“Ah, Hinata-kun. Can you keep it down,” the bartender says. 

“Sorry man. I sometimes forget how to use my indoor voice’” Hinata grins innocently. 

The bartender returns his smile, then leans down closer towards Hinata. His voice drops to a whisper. “Is that man bothering you,” he asks, nodding subtly at Kageyama. 

Hinata’s grin widdens. “No, no, not at all,” he reassures. “He’s just got a strange sense of humour.”

The bartender glares at Kageyama coldy, obviously not convinced, but still retreats back into the shadows of the bar. 

Once he’s gone, Kageyama averts his eyes from Hinata’s gaze. “Um, s-sorry,” he says stiffly. 

Hinata only laughs. It’s a soft laugh this time; it sounds like the gentle ringing of bells. A warm feeling, not all too different to the one Kageyama experienced when hearing him sing, floods into his body. 

“You sound pained when you apologise,” Hinata laughs. 

“Dumbass,” is all Kageyama reports with. 

He doesn’t know how, when or why it happens, but after that, they seem to fall into quite an easy conversation, albeit strange and unfamiliar. It involves mostly teasing and insults and the occasional yelp of pain when Kageyama kicks Hinata when he gets a bit carried away with the mocking. But, for the first time in his pitiful, unsociable life, Kageyama seems to be enjoying what can only be categorised as mindless chatter. Although the conversation sometimes steers towards reflecting the sort of petty arguments Iwaizumi and Oikawa often have, Kageyama can’t bring himself to end it and walk away. Maybe, by some miracle, Kageyama has finally found an extrovert, although still a dumb and annoying extrovert, that doesn’t deserve the electric chair. 

“Hey. How come you came here alone,” Hinata finally asks. “Were you meant to meet someone?” 

Kageyama doesn’t answer. He knows exactly why he came but he detests the idea of telling Hinata, who will surely use it as an excuse to reel off into a fit of giggles. 

When he doesn’t answer, Hinata looks a little startled. He peers at Kageyama, and Tobio knows he must have noticed the faint blush that has settled on his cheeks. 

“Has the great, mysterious, handsome Kageyama Tobio been stood up?” he cries joyfully, his laughter ringing loud. 

This proves too much for Kageyama, who’s entire face floods with a startling red colour, a mix of fury, embarrassment and bashfulness. 

“H-handsome?” he only manages to utter. 

Hinata’s face seems to mirror his own, his features are pulled into an expression of shock like he can’t quite believe those words left his mouth. 

“Y-yeah. Handsome.” Hinata stares down into his lap. 

“You think I’m handsome?” Kageyama says softly, surprised at his own gentle tone. 

“Well, you think I’m captivating.” Hinata rears his head quickly, a look of determination on his face. 

Kageyama just stares at him. Hinata stares back. 

A beat. 

“I came here to see you, dumbass. I wanted to see you perform.” Kageyama answers Hinata’s previous question quietly. He figures there was no point in lying, and besides, Hinata thinking he got stood up makes him feel more infuriated than if he knew the real reason. 

He bears himself for relentless teasing. 

It never comes. 

Instead, he feels a tight grasp on his wrist. Hinata pulls him up from his chair and drags him towards the exit of the bar, never once letting go of his wrist. His small fingers dig painfully in, deep enough to bruise. Kageyama is momentarily taken aback by the overwhelming strength that hides in the deceitful small figure. 

He allows himself to be pulled into the crisp, night air. 

Hinata walks down the street with incredible purpose. He never once speaks, and the determined silence startles Kageyama.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks angrily.

“No,” Hinata returns, pulling him round a corner and down a street Kageyama doesn’t recognise. 

“Then where are we going?” Kageyama feels utterly bewildered and he dislikes being confused. It hurts his head. 

“I’m bored of the bar,” is all Hinata offers. 

“Hey, look.” Kageyama stops walking. “You can’t just kidnap me like that. You’re just some random stranger I saw at a bar - for all I know, you are leading me to my death.”

Hinata takes a step back, dropping (Kageyama registered with a regretful pang) his tight grip on his wrist. 

“Don’t you trust me?” he says with a grin. 

Kageyama realises the answer is, in fact, yes. For some bizarre reason, Kageyama can’t help but blindly trust this small man. He’s only been speaking to him for a matter of hours, but a blanket of familiarity has settled over the pair, like they have known each other their whole lives. The conversation he’d been having with Hinata felt easy, each word leaving a strange sense of closeness. The chatter had lacked the normal viscosity that haunted Kageyama whenever he interacted socially. 

“I do,” he answers. 

An unreadable expression flashes across Hinata’s face, resting across his features momentarily. Kageyama blinks and it’s gone, instead replaced by that familiar grin. 

Hinata resumes his grip on Kageyama’s wrist (he’s definitely going to leave a bruise) and continues his journey. 

They walk in silence, Kageyama is too occupied with the sheer speed of this quick jaunt through some random side streets to make conversation. Hinata is unbelievably fast and his speedy pace never once wavers. Everything about this boy seems to have inhumane levels of stamina. 

Finally he comes to a halt. 

They stand facing a shop front, cozied in the middle of a long row of stores. The shutters are tightly pulled close, and the small sign that hangs over the door, in big block capitals, reads “CLOSED”. 

Of course. Hinata, the dumbass, must have forgotten the very late hour. Like some random store would be open at this time of night. Kageyama is about to open his mouth and retort on this, ready to vociferate about wasting his time and not thinking ahead, when he’s stopped by the jangle of keys. 

Hinata fiddles with the lock of the door before triumphantly tugging it open and turning on the lights of the shop. He beckons Kageyama in with a very proud grin, and Kageyama briefly wonders why he looks so smug. 

He steps into the interior of the shop. Hinata’s look of self-satisfaction is instantly explained. The place is wonderful. 

It’s a coffee shop. But also a record shop. Simultaneously. 

Across the brick walls are shelves and shelves of vinyls. Some appear second-hand, with covers so faded it looks as if they’ve been around for hundreds of years. However, there’s some new records too, like the bright, heavily-photoshopped, vaporwave albums of the modern day. Every vinyl ever created seems to be displayed on those walls; there’s a multitude of languages and styles and popularity. Each record has been categorised neatly into rustic wooden crates, labelled with handwritten notes describing the genre or the time period. 

Wooden tables, carrying the same rustic vibe as the crates, have been scattered across the laminated flooring of the store. Behind the large coffee counter, a black board displays the menu, written up in the same neat, printed handwriting as the labels. There’s low hanging lights that cast a warm glow around the store and bright fairy lights wind their way up and across the walls, snaking in between the shelves. Plants are placed everywhere too: long ivy vines, giant swiss cheese plants, potted aloe vera, tiny earth stars. Each plant sits grandly in its own hand painted pot. The healthy shades of green work wonderfully with the warmer tones of the brick walls and wooden tables. 

This place looks loved. The hours and hours of work that must have gone into making the shop into the warm, pleasing sight that greets Kageyama’s eyes now is so painfully apparent. 

He looks at Hinata. The boy is radiating. He looks truly at home. 

“N-nice,” Kageyama begins, his voice cracking a little. 

Hinata bounds over to him. “Do you like it? Do you like it?” 

Kageyama looks around, a little lost for words. “Hinata, this place is-“ 

But he can’t finish. He doesn’t have the words to even begin. Hinata looks at him, delight brimming in his eyes and Kageyama realises he doesn’t need to voice his praise at all. Hinata can read the awe he is feeling. 

“This place is my child. I own it. Well, co-own it,” Hinata beams. He wanders over to one wall and fondly begins flicking through the vinyls in the nearest crate. 

“Music is my everything,” he continues. “So it’s been my dream to open a record shop for soooooo long. I wanted to create a place where music lovers can come and drink some coffee and listen to some tunes. I just want to show more people how beautiful and meaningful music can be!’ 

He finishes his little tangent with a dramatic hand over his heart. He looks so sincere, so innocently unabashedly proud that Kageyama can’t quite help himself. 

He snorts loudly. 

“You are such a dumbass,” he chortles. 

“Meanie,” Hinata cries loudly. Before Kageyama can register what’s happening, a shock of orange hair darts his way. He feels arms wrapping around his torso, pushing him back so hard he loses his balance. He lands on the floor with a loud gruff, and a smaller figure dives on top of him only seconds later. 

“Get off me, you brat,” he yells as he tries to claw Hinata out the way. But Hinata clings tight to his torso, keeping both of them rendered immobile on the ground. 

“This is what you get for being so mean, Bakageyama,” Hinata giggles.

“Bakageyama?” Kageyama growls. That’s the final straw. He uses every being of strength he has to try and pull himself off the floor and send Hinata flying in the opposite direction. He succeeds in both. 

Now he stands towering over Hinata, who still remains on the floor. They stare at each other, Hinata wearing a massive grin. Kageyama feels heat rising up his body, flushing his cheeks. He clears his throat, his gaze never leaving Hinata’s sparkling eyes. 

“Show me how beautiful and meaningful music is then,” he demands.


	2. the second chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of laughter meets his ears as the door swings open. 
> 
> Kageyama drops his shirt in surprise. 
> 
> Hinata sits at the dining table, accompanied by Oikawa. They seem to be in conversation, a deep discussion that is interrupted by Kageyama as he bursts into the apartment, both shirtless and sweaty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k 2nd chapter! 
> 
> i wrote this one at like 5am so i apologise for any rocky errors. i swear the chapter picks up after the start. 
> 
> familiar faces feature in this one too!!

“Show me how beautiful and meaningful music is then.” 

Like a shock wave had just pulsed through him, Hinata springs up from the floor. Kageyama watches him as he sprints over to the back wall, where a guitar lazily stands, propped up against the bricks. He handles the instrument with an uncharacteristic gentleness; he walks towards where Kageyama is standing slowly and carefully, a speed that entirely contradicts all Kageyama has learned about this small quick redhead. 

“Let me play you a song,” Hinata demands. 

Kageyama only gives him a skeptical raise of the eyebrow, before he pulls at the nearest chair and settles into it. Hinata waits until he sits before perching himself on the table closest. His fingers rest on the strings as he positions the guitar until it sits comfortably in his arms.

He looks at Kageyama one last time, a look that causes much agglomeration in Kageyama’s brain as a lump rises up to his throat and his mouth goes strangely dry. 

Hinata takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and plays. 

His hands rise up and down the strings. The notes pierce the air, clear and daring; they dance in front of Kageyama, twirling dazes around his vision. It’s not until Hinata starts singing that Kageyama realises he is well and truly fucked. That voice. That goddamn voice. He can feel himself being pulled in; it’s like the notes are ribbons and they’ve wound their way around his wrists, capturing him in their spell-binding web. 

It’s a fast song; it darts and twists and pulsates around the room, filling every crevice of space with colours of bright vehemence: crimsons, yellows, oranges. Blinding passion spills out of Hinata’s mouth and his fingers are nothing but blurs as they wildly move around the strings. His cheeks are aflame with excitement, and he’s smiling, a smile just as dazzling as the song itself. 

When he stops playing, the two sit in silence for a few moments. The room seems to be vibrating, the air static and alive as Kageyama blinks slowly. 

Hinata gingerly places the guitar down, panting a little. 

“Well?” he asks, grinning. 

“You’re captivating.” The words just seem to slip out.

Kageyama doesn’t mean to give such a bold compliment and he’s suddenly seized by an uncomfortable feeling of awkwardness at the whole situation. The night has gone by so fast and it seems only now his brain is registering what he’s actually done. He ventured out to a bar alone, he had a conversation with a stranger, he allowed said stranger to take him to his shop and now he’s just been sung too. It’s been eventful, more eventful than any other day Kageyama has experienced. He’s never talked this much. He’s never been this impulsive. He’s never strayed much from his routine of solitude. He feels unbelievably overwhelmed. He can barely focus. He can barely breathe.

Kageyama shakingly gets up from his chair; his whole body is tense. He suddenly feels extremely on edge and an urge to leave the shop overtakes him. He clears his throat.

“I better be going,” he says grimly. His palms feel sweaty. 

Hinata’s face falls. 

“Already?” he replies angrily. 

Kageyama nods slowly. 

“Bye then.” Hinata sounds blunt, annoyed, and his hostile tone makes Kageyama wince. He wants to stay, he really does, but his brain screams at him out of trepidation, begging him to just go. He doesn’t know why he has to leave. He doesn’t know why he’s been grasped with such anxiety. But a feeling tells him to get the hell out of there. It’s a desperation he can’t explain but he listens to his own internal cries anyway. 

“Bye.”

He bolts out of the shop, ignoring Hinata’s no doubtibly angry stares. 

The cool air blows around his face in an icy greeting when he steps outside and the cold wind of the night whips around him teasingly, as if laughing at his social incompetence. God, he feels like such a fool. Hinata had kept him company all night, had let him come back to his shop and even played a song for him but all Kageyama could do in thanks was freeze up and storm out. 

Great.

He pelts it back home; his eyes water at the cold sting of the air that stabs at him as he runs. No matter how fast he sprints, no matter how much his legs hurt, no matter how cold he gets, nothing subsides the bitterness of his regret. 

||

“Tobio. You fool.”

Oikawa leans over the kitchen counter wearing the biggest shit-eating grin Kageyama has ever seen. It’s been a grand total of 8 hours since Kageyama had froze up and bolted out of Hinata’s shop and he had just finished explaining some of the events of last night (including its abrupt end) to the ever so amused Oikawa and the slightly more sympathetic Iwaizumi. 

“That poor boy. After he had so humbly, so nicely invited you to his little music shop?” Oikawa can barely keep himself from dancing around the room in delight. There is nothing that pleases him more than watching Kageyama suffer from his lack of social skills and his poor decision making. 

Kageyama just scowls at him. 

“Have you had those sorts of uncontrollable panics before, Kageyama-kun?” Iwaizumi asks, handing Kageyama a carton of milk from the fridge. 

Kageyama punctures the carton with the straw and sucks on it thoughtfully. 

“When I was younger, I guess. But not for a little while.”

“You’ve never had many friends, have you Tobio-chan.” Oikawa says. It’s not a question, more of a statement. 

Kageyama scowls at him again. But Oikawa is right. He hasn’t. They all know it. He just struggles to forge connections; personal experience has taught him that people don’t regularly like his bluntness or his hostility or his inability to recognise and then take into account people’s emotions. So he’s always lived life more or less alone. Befriending Iwaizumi (and maybe Oikawa) was nothing short of a miracle. They are perhaps the only people who have treated him like a regular human being, not like some sort of phlegmatic alien. Maybe that’s why he finds it easy to confide in them, hence why he has told them of last night, despite knowing the relentless teasing he would inevitably receive from Oikawa. 

He turns to Iwaizumi. 

“What do I do about Hinata?” he asks.

Iwaizumi glances at Oikawa; a look of mutual understanding seems to pass through them. 

“I don’t know, Kageyama. Maybe just forget about it for a few days,” Iwaizumi finally answers.

Kageyama just nods. He feels oddly disappointed, the lack of a clear resolution hollowing out his brain. He supposes he won’t ever see Hinata again, the redhead probably despises him now after he abandoned him out of the blue.

Whatever. Maybe he’s just been dramatic. Hinata was annoying anyway and even if the evening had ended politely and mutually, the chances of them rekindling were slim. 

This thought comforts him for the rest of the day as he goes to class. He takes a seat, as per, at the back of the lecture hall and barely listens as his professor’s monotone voice drills into his head. 

Kageyama doesn’t even know why he bothers coming to class. Each day he comes and each day he learns nothing new or fulfilling. He got into the college through a sports scholarship, a scholarship that was awarded to him only because of his inhumane and extremely auspicious level of athletic abilities, especially in volleyball. He certainly wasn’t awarded it because of his grades, which acted as a complete foil to his glory on the court. 

He appreciates the course he’s on, not because he finds the academic side of sports science particularly gripping, but rather because of the practical side. It allows him to spend a remarkable amount of time practicing on the court, and being the setter on the college’s distinguished and eminent volleyball team makes the constant pain of class very much worth it.

He doesn’t allow his mind to wander much in the next couple of days. He focuses harder on being active, and throws himself into a gruelling routine of constant and hellish exercise. It’s a common habit of his, to dedicate himself greatly to filling up his hours with a blur of running, working out and practicing whenever he wants to block out certain memories from his mind. 

And this time, he wanted to forget Hinata. 

He’s terrified. Terrified at how just spending one evening with that small redhead has completely shaken him up. Hinata’s grin infiltrates his dreams, his voice haunts his memories, his laughter follows him around like some distant shadow. Kageyama tries to convince himself that the only reason he can’t get this man out of his mind is because Hinata was the first person, besides Iwaizumi and Oikawa, that Kageyama had interacted with out of his own accord since being here. But even his single brain cell has to notice that one person doesn’t normally have this much of a profound effect on another. This realisation terrifies him. 

||

It’s a regular Thursday evening. It’s been 5 days since Kageyama was at Hinata’s shop (not that he was counting) and he’s currently on his 2nd run of the day. It’s a particularly strenuous one; his legs burn, his breathing is shallow, and there’s sweat everywhere. He grins in satisfaction at the pain. Pain is good, pain is comforting. Pain means he’s pushed himself to the extreme level, and nothing is more fulfilling than knowing he’s exceeded his own personal limit. 

He finishes the last kilometre in an astounding pace, and he collapses on the pavement outside his apartment block, regaining his strength, steading his breathing. His legs feel like jelly as he limps up the stairs. 

His hands shake as he puts the key into the lock of his apartment. He’s still extremely sweaty, so he removes his running top and uses the material to mop his brow, hoping to shake away some of the perspiration from his bangs. Kageyama pushes the door open with his foot, his head still buried into his shirt. 

The sound of laughter meets his ears as the door swings open. 

Kageyama drops his shirt in surprise. 

Hinata sits at the dining table, accompanied by Oikawa. They seem to be in conversation, a deep discussion that is interrupted by Kageyama as he bursts into the apartment, both shirtless and sweaty. 

Hinata’s head turns towards where Kageyama is standing. Their eyes meet. It’s a look that sends shivers down Kageyama’s spine, despite how high his body temperature must be. 

“Oh, Tobio-chan. How lovely to see you,” Oikawa beams, rising from his chair and bounding over to Kageyama. He wears a look of triumph, a startling smile that makes him look like some spawn of Satan. 

“Hi,” Hinata says, also rising from his seat. He looks mildly uncomfortable, and stays rooted to the spot. 

Kageyama, in that moment, is all too aware of his current appearance. His bangs stick to his sweaty forehead, no doubt flat or wet, and most of his torso is on show. He swallows. 

“Hi,” he replies stiffly. 

Oikawa twirls past Kageyama, grabbing the crumpled shirt that was previously dropped on the floor and leans against the kitchen counter. “I invited Hinata over, Tobio-chan. Aren’t I a good senpai?”

Kageyama scowls at him. He feels so unbelievably uncomfortable and exposed. 

“Can I have my shirt back?” he growls. 

“Ew, this smelly thing? Dirty Tobio-chan. Go get a new one,” Oikawa winks at him, enjoyment plastered plainfully across his features. He might as well have a big label reading “I want to watch you suffer” in big, block, callous capitals across his forehead. 

“You aren’t my mother,” Kageyama mumbles, yet he still marches past Oikawa towards his room, leaving his door slightly ajar. 

As he’s rooting through his wardrobe for a clean shirt, he hears Oikawa whisper devilishly to Hinata. “Tobio-chan has mighty fine muscle definition, doesn’t he?”

That fucker. 

He emerges from his room wearing a shirt that may be a few sizes too small for him, as it hugs tightly against his chest. (He might as well show off that ‘muscle definition’ he worked so hard for.) 

Kageyama regards the small figure seated at the dining table. Hinata is wearing much more casual clothes, simple black jeans and an oversized sweater with long sleeves that flop over his hands. The excess of material just emphasises his lack of height even more. He looks cute. Very cute. Kageyama gulps. 

Hinata catches his eye and frowns at him. 

“Kageyama, you are stupid,” is all he says. 

“What the hell, dumbass.” That familiar need to insult the redhead profusely rises up within him, triggering his classic frown to present itself across his face. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“It was my doing!” Oikawa practically sings, slapping Kageyama across the shoulder. “I did a bit of research. Turns out there is only one coffee shop in the area that doubles as a music store. Seeing as I had some lovely free time, I decided to swing by and see what all the fuss was about. And guess who is there?”

He beams at Hinata, who returns a smile equally as big. 

“So me and the small fry got acquainted. And you, my dear, sweet Tobio-chan, may have come up in our particularly juicy conversation.”

Kageyama’s heart drops. Oikawa has a particularly nasty habit of not knowing when he crosses the line, and Kageyama has a suspicious feeling that this habit holds true in this current predicament. 

“What did you say to him?” he growls. 

Hinata laughs. “Don’t worry, Bakageyama. He didn’t cross the line.”

It’s like he could read his goddamn mind. Kageyama swings around, staring in surprise at Hinata, who only gives him a teasing smile and reports how easy Kageyama is to read. 

“Whatever, idiot. Still doesn’t explain why you’ve come.” Tobio knows his tone is perhaps a little pugnacious and overly blunt but he genuinely isn’t used to these sorts of confrontations. 

“Use your brain, stupid.” Hinata rolls his eyes before continuing. “I came to see you. I was worried, ok? Is that a crime?”

The honesty hits Kageyama in the face like a slap. Hinata was worried? About him? Never before has anyone showed any sort of concern towards him. 

He suddenly becomes aware of Oikawa’s presence. The older man is still leaning over Kageyama’s shoulder and, much to Kageyama’s displeasure, there’s a smug look on his face. 

Kageyama strides over to Hinata and grabs his wrist. Before anyone can say anything, he pulls the redhead towards the door of the apartment. 

“Let’s go elsewhere,” Kageyama grunts, before giving Oikawa a scowl and pulling Hinata through the door of the apartment and out into the corridor. 

The apartment door swings closed behind them, a deep bang that echoes around the empty hallway. Kageyama leans against the wall. 

“Look, Kageyama, about that night-” Hinata begins. 

“I’m sorry, ok. For storming out.” Kageyama interrupts. “I just panicked. I know it was rude. I know I was over dramatic. I don’t know why I left. And I understand if you hate me.”

Silence settles between them. 

“You idiot.” Hinata says softly. 

The gentle tone surprises Kageyama. His shoulders sag a little. 

“I’m not an idiot,” he mutters. 

“You are. I don’t hate you, stupid. I understand why you needed to leave. I get it. Oikawa said you were really annoyed at yourself,” Hinata laughs. “Kageyama, it’s ok. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Kageyama looks at Hinata through narrowed eyes, but the man looks sincere and honest, maybe a little amused but mostly worried. Worried. He can’t make sense that someone is actually worried about him, someone that isn’t Iwaizumi or Oikawa. It feels surreal. 

“You shouldn’t listen to Oikawa. He’s full of shit.”

Hinata bursts into laughter. 

“I act so compassionate and forgiving towards you, and all you can think about is Oikawa-san?” he teases Kageyama, elbowing him in the ribs. 

“Watch it, dumbass,” Kageyama says, grinning in spite of himself. He reaches out and grabs a fistful of Hinata’s curls, pulling him into a hair grab. It lacks any source of anger, and it only makes Hinata laugh harder. He releases him after a short while, and they both lean against the wall, with a sort of comforting silence falling between them. 

“Hinata?”

“Hm?”

“Can we go back to your store?”

Hinata instantly lights up. 

|| 

The shop, Kageyama finds, is much different during opening times. It’s heaving with people, most of them must be regulars judging by the familiar looks of joy they give Hinata when the two of them enter. A welcoming aroma of coffee floats lazily around the space. There’s a nostalgic sound of a vinyl as it plays gently, the comforting crackling of the record accompanies the soft chattering of the customers, the whirring of coffee machines and the clinking of cups. Kageyama gets the sense of a community; this place seems like a sacred safe space and he quickly begins to feel like some sort of imposter. 

But Hinata doesn’t let him dwell in the feeling of being an outsider for long as he loudly addresses every person in the shop, his overwhelmingly booming voice overpowering the chattering and reducing the once bustling room into a quick quiet. 

“Everyone, this is my new friend Kageyama. He may look scary, but he’s actually a massive idiot,” Hinata says proudly as he pushes Kageyama forward. 

Kageyama blinks into the crowd of people, all of whom have put down their coffee mugs and were staring quite intently at him. It’s a sea of unfamiliar faces, all turned towards him. 

He feels Hinata coming up beside him so he risks a glance down at him, feeling uncomfortable and awkward. Hinata gives him a reassuring smile. 

Kageyama bows slightly at the waiting crowd. 

“Pleased to meet you all,” he says quickly. 

The customers all break out in a loud chorus of welcome, offering him the biggest and most genuine smiles Kageyama has ever recieved. Most return back to their conversations but Kageyama watches as 2 men approach them. 

“Ah, so this is Kageyama!” one of them says, in a booming voice that causes Kageyama to wince slightly at the volume. He’s louder than Hinata, much louder and far more obnoxious. Kageyama takes in his larger than life presence, his strange sticky up hair and his oddly naive and child-like features. 

“This is Bokuto.” Hinata squeaks in excitement, tugging at Kageyama’s shirt. “He’s a regular here.”

Kageyama nods stiffly at Bokuto, who only laughs and throws a huge arm around his shoulders. 

“My little disciple was right, you are awfully frowny, Kageyama-kun,” he bellows, jabbing a forefinger right between Kageyama’s eyebrows. 

Hinata, maybe sensing some sort of disaster about to happen, intervenes in the interaction, removing Bokuto’s arm from Kageyama’s shoulder and pulling him off. Bokuto only laughs at Hinata’s diversion. He gives Kageyama a cheerful wave before wandering over to the coffee counter, singing something about wanting cake. 

“Don’t mind Bokuto, he’s like a little child,” Hinata beams. “He’s the best though!”

Kageyama frowns thoughtfully at the large figure leaning over the coffee counter, loudly debating over which cake he wants. 

“How does he get his hair like that?” he wonders out loud, thinking of his own very flat, very stubborn bangs. 

“His hair isn’t as cool as mine,” comes an unfamiliar voice, and Kageyama finally registers the other man Bokuto came over with.

“I’m Kuroo,” the tall man states. He offers Kageyama a handshake, which he takes. Kuroo has an extremely firm grip, and Kageyama’s hand comes away feeling a little flattened. 

“Shrimpy here hasn’t shut up about you for the last couple of days,’ Kuroo grins. ‘So nice to finally meet you, Kageyama. You and your broad shoulders have been the topic of many conversations.”

“Kuroo-kun, stopppp,” Hinata cries, bounding up and placing his hand firmly over Kuroo’s mouth. His face is glowing a ferocious red. 

“My broad shoulders?” Kageyama blinks. 

“They came up once, ok? ONCE! No, don’t look smug, you bastard, I also told them how mean you are.”

Kageyama just raises his eyebrows in mock disbelief. Hinata scowls furiously before rounding once again on the ever-so-amused Kuroo. 

“This is your fault, Kuroo,” Hinata cries as he aims a kick squarely for Kuroo’s knee. The tall man yelps in pain as Hinata’s foot meets his leg with an uncanny aim. 

“Ow, Shouyou. I’m only teasing,” Kuroo grins, rubbing his knee. He gives Hinata a hair ruffle, maybe as some sort of an apology. 

“I’ll leave you and Mr Broad Shoulders alone,” he says, smiling at Kageyama. He limps away. 

Kageyama is about to open his mouth and say something snarky about what Kuroo let slip, but he feels a sharp elbow nudge him. 

“Don’t say a thing,” Hinata states through gritted teeth. 

“Don’t know what you mean,” he replies. 

“You were going to say something snarky, Bakageyama.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“Wasn’t”

“Were.”

During this little argument, the pair had gravitated towards the coffee counter. It’s Hinata’s day off, as he constantly keeps reminding everyone who greets him as he picks his way through the maze of tables and he seems to be excited to be able to order the coffee, rather than being the one who has to make it. 

“Atsumu-kun!” Hinata squeals a giddy greeting to the tall, blonde man who is situated behind the counter. The man looks slightly bored, but his face brightens up as soon as he spots Hinata approaching him. 

“Shou! Is this the guy?” Atsumu asks, with a knowing smile. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Kageyama Tobio,” Kageyama says, bowing his head. 

Atsumu just laughs playfully. Kageyama takes in his appearance: his golden hair pushed to the right side, his dark undercut, his lazy smirk playing on his lips. There’s something about him, perhaps the carefree, a little condescending personality he seems to have, that reminds Kageyama dangerously of Oikawa. 

“What can I get ya, Tobio?” Atsumu asks in a dwardling tone, still smirking. 

“Um. I’ll have a black coffee, please.”

“Ah,” Atsumu smiles. “That’s what Shou usually orders.”

Hinata laughs, perhaps a little nervously. His fingers are drumming against the counter as he turns to Kageyama. 

“Atsumu co-owns this place with me. He’s amazing at bass,” Hinata says brightly. He gestures towards a bass guitar that rests in a stand, displayed proudly. The instrument is beautiful, unbelievably clean and shiny. It’s evident that it’s treated with the most paramount care. 

‘“So Tobio. I hear ya have irresistibly broad shoulders,” Atsumu asks, his tone dripping in seductiveness. He leans over the counter, as the coffee machine whirs loudly and regards Kageyama deeply, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Stop,” Hinata begs, burying his face in his hands in shame. “I let it slip ONCE.” 

Atsumu doesn’t answer. Instead he finishes off making their coffees. He laughs softly to himself as he writes something on one of the cups, before handing it to Kageyama. 

“Did you just give him your phone number?” Hinata cries, peering at Kageyama’s cup in horror. 

Kageyama looks down at his drink and sure enough there’s a phone number displayed on the side, written neatly in marker. 

Atsumu just grins devilishly. 

Kageyama stares down at the digits, dumbfounded. 

“Atsumu, you can’t just flirt with my guest,” Hinata says, rolling his eyes whilst Atsumu just shrugs nonchalantly. 

Kageyama lets Hinata tug on his wrist as he pulls him away from the blonde man and his satanic smirk. 

They walk over to the only empty table in the bustling place. It’s a small table for two, pushed into the corner. A vase stands in the centre with small flowers erupting from within the glass, tiny tulips of a wide variety of colours that are intertwined with each other. An orange ribbon is tied around the body of the vase. It’s a sweet arrangement, a subtle touch that just contributes more to the overall pleasing atmosphere of the shop. 

As Hinata slides into his seat, he points at the vase. 

“I arranged that,” he says, with pride coating his words. 

A burning affection towards this small man in front of him suddenly takes hold of Kageyama. The flowers are very like Hinata, deceivingly small but bubbling with colours, fizzing with life. He imagines him arranging them, his tongue pushed out slightly in concentration as he handles each stem with the same gentleness as he did his guitar those few days ago. 

“It’s the same colour as your hair,” Tobio states, pointing at the ribbon that’s delicately tied around the glass. He watches as a blush tiptoes hesitantly into Hinata’s cheeks. 

Just like in the bar, Hinata and himself seem to fall into a perfectly natural conversation. It starts off with the same relentless disagreements. They fill the time with petty little competitions, like who had the worst grades in highschool or who can run the fastest or who has to deal with the biggest drama queen (between Oikawa and Atsumu). But soon, as the time ticks by and the coffee cups get steadily more empty, the conversation soon stretches into more personal territory. 

Hinata begins to tell Kageyama about his shop, about how he and Atsumu worked so hard to open it. He describes the gruelling process of saving up all their money, decorating the entirety of the interior and establishing the space as the place everyone knows and enjoys now. The love he has for his shop oozes out from every sentence he utters. 

He explains that he comes from a musical family, and that his mother taught him piano and guitar from a very early age. Kageyama watches the way his eyes fill up with fondness at the memories of his childhood, the close knit family who bonded over the shared passion for songs. 

He even confides in his struggles like the tediousness of never going beyond bar singing, the unpleasant harassment he sometimes receives from loud, drunk men who jeer at him and finally the desire he has to go further and share his music on a bigger stage. 

It’s spellbinding, having someone trust you enough to tell you these sorts of things, and Kageyama’s heart beats loudly in his chest at every painfully honest word. The redhead never puts too much pressure on him to respond, Hinata just fills the already comfortable silence with comfortable anecdotes.

Of course between each word and pause there are digs and bickerings but, instead of hindering the flow of conversation, the light teasing speeds it up. 

Kageyama doesn’t mind mocking. It feels comfortable, it feels right. Like a familiar pattern, his brain can process the steady flow of ‘dumbass’ or ‘idiot’. He can’t read a lot of people but it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the genuine interest that radiates off Hinata masked behind the sharp fire of insults. 

The afternoon bleeds into evening. The lights dim and the chatter dies down as people start filtering out back home, each one beaming a goodbye to Hinata and a polite nod to Kageyama until there are very few left in the shop. 

“Hey.” Kageyama hears someone say. He looks up to see Atsumu has wandered over to their small table. He’s removed his apron, and looks really quite good in casual jeans and a loose white top. He flashes a smirk at Kageyama. 

“Shou. It’s closing time. Ya wanna lock up?” Atsumu asks. 

“Yeah sure. Kageyama can help me,” Hinata says, gesturing towards him. 

“Why should I help you,” Kageyama frowns, kicking at Hinata’s chair. 

“Payback for running out on me like a big baby, remember?” Hinata retorts, returning the kick. Kageyama yelps in pain as Hinata misses his chair leg and sharply buries his foot in Kageyama’s shin. 

“Ow, dumbass, that’s my leg.” Kageyama, without a moment of hesitation, aims for Hinata’s knee and smirks in satisfaction when Hinata also cries out. 

“You two have been having the most adorable arguments,” Atsumu sighs, patting encouragingly on Kageyama’s shoulder. 

This stops their undertable war, and they both turn to look at Atsumu. 

“Have you been listening to us?” Hinata cries. 

“Of course,” Atsumu smiles. “But only because I’m jealous, Shou.”

“Jealous?” Hinata scowls at him. 

“Kageyama-kun is just so good and handsome.” Atsumu squeezes Kageyama’s shoulder, who burns a furious red. The blonde man only laughs at his beetroot face and, with a wink and a cheerful goodbye, whisks out of the shop. The two watch as he blows a kiss through the window before disappearing round the corner. 

“Oikawa is still worse,” Kageyama states once Atsumu is gone. They both have risen from their seats and Kageyama now stands leaning against the coffee counter, watching Hinata’s orange head as he rummages around for cleaning equipment. 

“Kageyama, we’ve been through this. Atsumu is the devil,” Hinata sighs as he pulls out a bottle of spray and a handful of cloths. 

“Oikawa is still worse.” 

“You are only saying that because ‘tsumu called you handsome,’ Hinata complains as he hands Kageyama a cloth and tells him to go wipe some tables. 

“Am not,” Kageyama snaps, violently snatching the cloth out of Hinata's grip. 

“Liar,” Hinata calls as he turns heel and stomps into a backroom situated behind the coffee counter to grab a broom. 

They work quickly, each trying to outdo the other in terms of how fast they can eradicate any speck of dust. It takes only a few minutes of intense cleaning fueled by staggering amounts of competitiveness for the entire shop to sparkle. 

“I definitely cleaned more than you,” Hinata says brightly as he walks them both towards the exit of the shop. 

“No you didn’t, you moron,” Kageyama grunts in annoyance and stands a little awkwardly, watching Hinata turn off the lights and pull the door closed. He fiddles with the lock slightly until a small click tells him the door is securely bolted. 

Hinata pockets the keys and looks up at Kageyama. 

“I had a good time today. You’re great,” he smiles. 

Kageyama’s eyes widen at the compliment, as such bold statements of affection towards him are such a rarity. He stutters, confused at his sudden inability to articulate. 

“W-whatever, stupid,” he ends up saying. He truly has a way with words. 

Hinata laughs at his face. “Learn to take a compliment, idiot.”

Kageyama doesn’t reply. He just watches as Hinata rocks back on his feet, as if he’s waiting for something. It’s silent for a few moments; neither makes the move to leave, knowing they will have to go in opposite directions. 

“Well, bye,” Kageyama finally says shortly. He turns to leave, but he feels Hinata call out a loud “wait” as a hand grabs his wrist. 

“Let me have your number. In case you...want to meet again?” Hinata sputters out, so quickly that Kageyama almost doesn’t catch it all. The smaller man thrusts his phone into Kageyama’s hand. 

“Put in your number,” he mumbles, not maintaining eye contact with him at all. So Tobio does and then stands in awkward silence as Hinata also types in his number into Kageyama’s phone. 

“Thanks.” he grumbles as the mobile is shoved back into his grip. Silence settles once more. Kageyama watches as Hinata’s face seems to be seized with a sense of determination. Before he can step back, he feels the smaller man lurch forward quickly, wrapping his arms around Kageyama’s body. Hinata’s head bangs heavily into him and rests on his chest for a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second in which Kageyama’s heart goes ballistic, pounding heavily against him frantically and untamed. He doesn’t even have time to register that this is a hug, and the common rules of hugs are that you give one back. Instead, he sort of stands there, immobile and awkward. 

Hinata bounces off him almost as soon as he has lurched forward, and gives him a dazzling grin and a small wave before he bounds off round the corner. 

Kageyama just stares at the air that once occupied the redhead. It still seems electric, as if the air particles are fizzing with life having just been in the company of someone as loud and enthusiastic as Hinata. Kageyama feels oddly empty, just standing alone on the abandoned pavement, and his chest is burning painfully. He scowls, trying to bury the warm, strange sensation buzzing in his stomach down as far as humanly possible, and turns to walk back home, his mind definitely, absolutely, positively NOT thinking of a certain person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry 4 any mistakes


	3. the third drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want to go. I don’t even know why I told Kuroo I would,” he spits vehemently. “Parties suck anyway.”
> 
> “Parties don’t suck, you suck.” Hinata sticks his tongue out at him as he presses some buttons on the coffee machine. He watches the hot liquid fall into the cup before he turns back to Kageyama. “Don’t be such a grump. It’ll be fun, I’ll be there!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> party chapter yey
> 
> im so done w this fic omg so i might just upload chapters much more regularly just to get it out the way urg 
> 
> anway lol things r picking up now so lets go!!!!

I suppose it wouldn’t be too much of an overstatement to say that from that day onwards, Kageyama’s life sorta changed. In just the space of a few days since meeting Hinata, Kageyama goes from being a very lonely, taciturn, unsociable bitter man to a much less lonely, more talkative and somewhat sociable bitter man. In the months that follow his little adventure out of complete solitude, Hinata and himself meet up again on a number of occasions. Daily phone calls (albeit a little one-sided) become routine, and Kageyama often finds himself round the small shop again and again until he supposes he could be classed as a regular. 

It’s odd to think, but for the first time in his life Kageyama has a group of people outside of Oikawa and Iwaizumi that he sees weekly, sometimes even more. Kuroo, Bokuto, Atsumu, they all became somewhat friends to him. Kageyama is even introduced to Kenma, who turns out to be Kuroo’s roommate and one of Hinata’s closest friends. Kenma rarely leaves his apartment and doesn’t regularly come down to the coffee shop but when he does, they get on quite well to the point where Kageyama would also consider him nearly a friend. 

But Hinata. Hinata is definitely a friend. They speak nearly everyday and Hinata is a frequent visitor around his apartment, much to the delight of Oikawa. They argue often, fight far too much for two grown adults and compete like a pair of school boys. It’s great and horrific all at the same time. Contrary to what his constant grumbles would suggest, Kageyama likes spending time with Hinata and, seeing as the redhead would use any excuse to meet up with him, he’s sure the feeling is mutual. 

However, it’s a regular Sunday evening when Kageyama truly thinks that allowing Hinata to expose him to the world of being social has gone a little too far. Because now he’s been invited to his first ever party via Kuroo, who had decided he wanted to host one for no particular reason other than he was bored. What’s worse is that he agreed to go. He’s been brainwashed. Surely. The old Kageyama would never have agreed to go to some dumb person’s house for some dumb party. He’s definitely been brainwashed. 

Presently, he’s standing against the counter of Hinata’s coffee shop, angrily staring down the smaller man in front of him, who stares back sporting the most infuriating face of innocence. 

“I can’t believe you’re forcing me to go to Kuroo’s party,” he grumbles, shoving his empty coffee cup against the counter with a violent bang. 

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, Bakageyama,” Hinata replies lightly, wiping his hands on his apron. Kageyama just glares at him as Hinata takes his empty cup and begins to make him a fresh coffee, humming to himself like he’s some sort of holy saint. 

“I don’t want to go. I don’t even know why I told Kuroo I would,” he spits vehemently. “Parties suck anyway.”

“Parties don’t suck, you suck.” Hinata sticks his tongue out at him as he presses some buttons on the coffee machine. He watches the hot liquid fall into the cup before he turns back to Kageyama. “Don’t be such a grump. It’ll be fun, I’ll be there!”

“You’re the exact reason I don’t want to go,” Kageyama snaps, completely lying. Hinata just glares at him with a scowl. 

“I’ll spit in your coffee, Kageyama,” he says bitterly as he removes the cup from under the coffee machine. 

Kageyama snatches it out of his hands before any salvia could be added to the hot drink. He sips on it silently, gifting Hinata with the most morose look he can muster. 

“Come on, Kageyama. Please come! Bring Oikawa and Iwaizumi, they haven’t met my friends yet,” Hinata begs as he leans against the counter. He pulls on Kageyama’s sleeve as he whines. “Please, please, please.”

“How many people are going?” Kageyama finally asks, not even attempting to mask the petulance in his voice. 

“Only a few,” Hinata says brightly. He must know he’s winning this argument, as he lets go of Kageyama’s sleeve and rocks back on his feet, looking triumphant. 

Kageyama swallows a mouthful of coffee whilst simultaneously also swallowing his pride. He lets out a massive sign. 

“Fine.”

His scowl dangerously deepens when Hinata bursts into a rowdy chorus of celebration, causing a few customers to look up from their seats lazily in the direction of the commotion. 

Hinata’s smug grin lasts for the rest of the week, gradually getting wider and wider as the days go on. The party is set for Saturday, and when Kageyama leaves the shop the Friday prior, he reckons Hinata’s face could split right open with how big his smile is. 

Saturday evening finally dawns and Kageyama is nervous. He tries to keep his composure as Oikawa dances around the apartment, a wide variety of clothes hanging off his arms. Oikawa has appointed himself as Kageyama’s own personal wardrobe stylist, stating that if he let Kageyama dress himself, he would clear out the whole party as soon as he stepped through the door. So, he begrudgingly allows Oikawa to pull out the entire contents of his wardrobe and stays strangely compliant as more shirts are thrust in his direction. 

Oikawa himself is already dressed, of course, and even Kageyama, who knows nothing about fashion, reckons he looks good. He wears a loose fitting light blue shirt with the top buttons left undone. He’s cuffed the long sleeves and only half tucked the fabric into his dark jeans. He looks effortlessly stylish, with his messy dark curls and vans. God damn the bastard. Kageyama really dislikes him. 

“This won’t do, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa cries, as he throws a creased white t-shirt across the room in a fit of temper. “You own no clothes good enough for a party.”

“It’s because I never go to parties,” Kageyama snaps in return. Oikawa just shakes his head at him in a manner of disapproval. He seems to ponder on something for a moment as Kageyama notices the tell tale signs of inner conflict display themselves across Oikawa’s face. Finally, the older man gives a loud sigh of exasperation before disappearing into his own room. 

Iwaizumi just laughs from where he sits on the couch. He’s dressed casual enough, a simple black t-shirt with jeans. Kageyama doesn’t see why Oikawa won’t let him dress like that, he owns plenty of regular t-shirts. It seems the drama queen has some sort of plan for him, a thought that makes Kageyama’s stomach turn unpleasantly. 

The devil himself finally emerges from his room, clutching a pile of clothes with a massive smirk of pride displayed in full view on his fiendish face. He chucks the clothes at Kageyama. 

“As I’m so nice, I will let you borrow some of my clothes, Tobio-chan,” he declares gleefully, as he ushers Kageyama into a room to get changed. 

Oikawa has picked out a pair of loose black jeans, cuffed at the ankles, a white shirt and a dark blue jumper, with some foreign logo stitched on subtly in thin white thread. The outfit, once he manages to put it on, is surprisingly comfy. He regards himself in his new attire from the big mirror propped up against the wall. The collar of the shirt peaks out from under the jumper, white looking good against the dark. 

He steps out of the room rather sheepishly and almost instantly Oikawa bursts into a round of applause and loudly congratulates himself for having such impeccable taste in clothes. He jumps on Kageyama like a storm, tucking the jumper in and upturing the sleeves. 

“Shouyou is just going to love this!” he gushes. 

“What do you mean?” Kageyama asks, puzzled, as he succeeds in shoving the man off him. 

“Leave him alone, Shitty-kawa,” Iwaizumi growls as he rises from his seat. “Let’s go now.” He grabs Oikawa by the arm, ignoring as the other man whines under his terrifyingly firm grasp, and marches towards the door to leave. Kageyama follows the pair quickly, grabbing the keys as he goes. 

The party starts in a couple of minutes, so they were most definitely going to be late, seeing as Kuroo’s address seemed to be a good 20 minute walk away. Oikawa, however, seems to be jaunting along at a perfectly leisurely pace, insisting that he always makes sure to be fashionably late. It’s a chilly evening, and Kageyama’s thin jumper and shirt do nothing to keep out the frost as the three of them make their way towards the allocated address. Therefore, he is all too thankful when they reach Kuroo’s apartment building, after 20 minutes of intense shivering and chattering of teeth. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess which apartment is Kuroo’s, for as almost as soon as they step into his building, the sound of far away music greets their ears, steadily getting a little louder with every floor they climb up. When they reach Kuroo’s door, they can feel the beats vibrate through the door, which does nothing to calm down Kageyama’s booming heart. Iwaizumi knocks loudly against the door. It takes a good minute before the frame is finally swung open and Kageyama finds himself face to face with Kuroo and Bokuto as the noise of music amplifies. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s Kageyama,” Bokuto celebrates, pulling him into a side hug which leaves him suffering for breath. 

“Wanna introduce us to your friends?” Kuroo asks, raising an eyebrow as he looks at Oikawa and Iwaizumi up and down. 

“I’m Oikawa.” Kageyama isn’t even given a chance to speak before Oikawa is hustling him aside and extending a hand out to Kuroo. Kuroo takes it, smirking. “And this is Iwaizumi,” Oikawa states, gesturing to where the man is standing. He gives Bokuto and Kuroo a nod, which both return. “Thank you so much for inviting us,” Oikawa gushes, his voice going a few notches higher as he attempts to sound flattering. 

“I’m Kuroo,” the dark haired man leans forward, smiling in amusement. 

“Hey, has Tobio arrived yet?” a voice approaches the door, and Atsumu’s smirking face comes into view. “Oh hey,” he grins when he catches sight of the new arrivals. He pushes Kuroo aside and pats Kageyama on the shoulder in his usual patronising greeting. He’s looking very good tonight; he wears a tight shirt and a loose corduroy jacket which suits him greatly. 

“Hi,” Kageyama says. “Um, this is Iwaizumi and Oik-”

He goes to introduce the blonde to his two roommates but finds that Atsumu and Oikawa seem to be amidst a very intense staring match. 

“So, you call him Tobio too?” Oikawa asks, taking in Atsumu’s appearance. His body seems to have gone a little rigid, and if Kageyama didn’t know any better, he would say the older man looks a little hostile. 

Atsumu takes a step forward. “That’s his name, isn’t it?” His signature smirk plays on his lips as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“What’s your name, blondie?” Oikawa asks, eyes narrowed. 

“Miya Atsumu,” the other man returns. 

“It’s a pleasure, Atsumu-san. I can’t say Tobio-chan has mentioned you,” Oikawa giggles. That’s a lie, and Kageyama knows it, because he had given both Oikawa and Iwazumi a brief on all the people he’s met recently. 

“I’m sure he has. Must have slipped your mind,” Atsumu says brightly, slipping an arm around Kaeyama’s shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. 

Kageyama clears his throat uncomfortably. The air surrounding Atsumu and Oikawa seems to crackle with tension as both refuse to stop staring at the other at the risk of seeming the weaker one. 

“Um, Atsumu, where’s Hinata?” he eventually asks. Atsumu gestures back into the apartment. 

“Last saw him in the kitchen,” he says quickly. 

Kageyama looks at Iwaizumi, silently asking him if he’s ok to leave this odd little scene. The man just nods at him curtly, eyebrows drawn in confusion or maybe ill-temperedness at Oikawa’s sudden change in mood. So, after bidding them all a “see you later”, Kageyama pushes past Kuroo and Bokuto and steps into the apartment. 

As it turns out, Hinata was lying right through his teeth when he told him there wouldn’t be many people coming tonight. For Kuroo's apartment is absolutely packed with strangers. Some are dancing, some are drinking, some are talking loudly in a blur of excitable chatter. The place is so busy, it forces Kageyama to stay rooted to the spot awkwardly. He tries not to think too much about all the people, all the strangers, and instead focuses on looking out over the sea of heads, trying to spot a small orange one. 

However, the small orange one finds him first, as he feels a blur of energy collide with him. Kageyama looks down, scowling darkly but overly relieved to find a very energetic Hinata smiling up at him. His eyes are shining, but whether that’s from the buzz of a party or alcohol, Kageyama can’t tell. 

“You’re here! Finally,” Hinata grins at him. 

“Yeah,” Kageyama says grimly. “Oikawa just met Atsumu,” he adds solemnly. 

Hinata nods in understanding. “I see,” he replies gravely. “Satan has met satan. The world will now begin to self-destruct.”

Kageyama scoffs at him, nudging him slightly with his elbow. “Where are the drinks?” he asks. Without missing a beat, Hinata grabs tightly onto Kageyama’s arm and pulls him in some direction. They weave in and out of people, Hinata calling out a loud ‘sorry’ to those he mustn't know but throwing those he seems to be familiar with one of his dazzling grins. 

They end up in the kitchen, which is much more sparse. The music can barely be heard here, there’s only 4 people leaning against the fridge, all engaged in some deep debate on something much more complex than Kageyama’s brain can handle. It’s much lighter here, void of any bright flashing light, and Kageyama can finally take in Hinata’s appearance. 

He wears black denim dungarees, underneath which lies a stripy black and white long sleeve top. His hair looks extra curly and someone has stuck two little glittering stars on his pink cheeks. If it were anyone else, Kageyama is sure this outfit would look ridiculous. But Hinata, well Hinata looks...adorable. Goddamn it. 

Hinata passes him a strongly smelling cup, shaking him out of his little reverie. Kageyama looks disapprovingly down at it, hesitant to drink it in case Hinata is trying to poison him. He wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Just drink it, stupid. Something to wipe that frown off,” Hinata laughs at him as he downs his own drink quickly, slamming the empty cup on the table with a hoot of triumph. Not willing to seem the inferior one, Kageyama follows suit. The liquid burns at his throat and he chokes as he pours the entire contents into his mouth. 

“What the heck was in that?” he spluttes when he pulls the cup away from his lips. Hinata just shrugs, with a smirk nefarious enough to rival that of Atsumu’s smile. 

Parties really aren’t Kageyama’s scene, a fact he constantly keeps reminding Hinata of whenever the little brat tries to get him to dance, or do shots, or play some dumb truth or dare game. However, despite the nagging, the evening slides by rather quickly, although Kageyama hasn’t really done anything particularly eventful. He just ends up sitting on a couch with a very quiet Kenma (who spends the whole night playing on his switch) but Kageyama finds he is content enough soundlessly observing as disasters unfold in front of his eyes. For example, right now Bokuto is smashed-out drunk, and is currently performing a highly erratic and potentially dangerous routine of gymnastics on a table, with Kuroo obnoxiously spurring him on. 

Oikawa and Atsumu had to be seperated after things got a little too tense, and it’s rather entertaining for Kageyama to watch as they both sarcastically blow kisses to each other from opposite sides of the room.

Another thing he is noticing is that, as expected, allowing someone such as Hinata, who has an indefatigable love for being obnoxiously active, to consume alcohol is like asking for a cataclysm to happen. The boy never stops whipping around the room like a spinning top; he’s nothing but a blur of relentless energy and twinkling laughter as he dashes around people, singing at the top of his lungs. Occasionally, he’ll stop his laps of the entire perimeter of Kuroo and Kenma’s apartment to wander over to where Kageyama is slouched, laughing a little too loud. 

“Kageyama~!” Hinata sings as he skips over to him for the 30th time. ‘Play with meeeee.’ 

Kageyama himself is feeling the effects of the alcohol chipping away at his icy exterior, so he doesn’t even complain when Hinata flops right on top of his lap. The smaller man places his hands on Kageyama’s shoulders and shakes him hard. 

“I wanna play something!” he begs, pulling him back and forth with his hands. He laughs at the way Kageyama’s bangs flitter back against his forehead with every tug. 

“Play what?” Kageyama replies, barely focusing on what Hinata is saying but more preoccupied with the way he’s sitting on his lap. 

“Kenma’s got a console in his room. Let’s play Mario Kart,” Hinata declares, his eyes glued to Kageyama’s bangs as he giggles in amusement. 

Kageyama feels Kenma grunt beside him. “Don’t break anything, Shouyou.”

“I won’t, Kenma!” Hinata beams, momentarily distracted from Kageyama’s bangs to throw a smile in Kenma’s direction. 

“I bet I beat you,” Kageyama challenges, gazing up at the boy on his lap. Somehow, his hands have subconsciously found their way to Hinata’s hips, holding him in place. But he’s much too tipsy to feel embarrassment over this compromising position. 

“No way. I’m the Mario Kart master,” Hinata cries, pouting his lip. He leaps off Kageyama and tugs on the bottom of his jumper, indicating the direction of Kenma’s bedroom. Kageyama follows him in a blur, his eyes a little unfocussed as he pushes past people towards Kenma’s room. 

The room is relatively small; it has a narrow bed at the bottom of which is a massive screen and stacks and stacks of games. Kageyama gingerly places himself crossed-legged onto the bed and watches as Hinata shuffles forward and refiles through the games. He pulls one out and attempts to put it in. It takes a good couple of minutes until the screen comes on, a blinding white light which causes them both to flinch. A controller is thrust into Kageyama’s grip. 

“I’m going to beat you so easily,” Hinata beams as the game starts loading up. The aspect of a furious competition seems to have sobered them both up a fraction, although Kageyama’s brain still seems a little fuzzy. His line of vision seems to be distorting around the edges but his determination to absolutely thrash Hinata at Mario Kart manoeuvres him around the courses as soon as the races start. 

It takes only 5 games for Kageyama to realise that Hinata is, in fact, a master at Mario Kart. He wins with ease, despite seeming even more tispy than Kageyama is. Kageyama only manages to bag a win when he shoves his elbow into Hinata’s face, causing him to swing down into an abyss. In return, Hinata plonks himself on Kageyama’s lap once more, his mess of orange hair blocking Kageyama’s view of the screen. Kageyama ends up shoving him against the bed, resulting in Hinata kicking him so hard in the chest he winds him. It doesn’t take long for both controllers to be discarded as the pair launches into a wrestle like some teenagers. 

Hinata’s laughter rings loud as he manages to flip Kageyama onto his back. He parks himself right on top of him, gloating loudly that he’s far stronger. Kageyama grits his teeth and grabs the smaller man by the hips, flinging him across to the opposite side of the bed. Hinata lies there for a second, stunned, and Kageyama quickly scrambles over, trapping him underneath him with his arms. 

They are both panting at this point, big grins slapped right on their faces. Hinata peers up at Kageyama, his mouth moving wordlessly in excitement. 

“I win,” Kageyama pants, his arms trapping Hinata so effectively the redhead doesn’t even have room to wriggle around. Hinata just sticks his tongue out at him, childishly. 

“So? I thrashed you at Mario Kart,” he reminds him gleefully. His fingers wrap around Kageyama’s forearms, trying to pry them off him. But Kageyama finds himself really not wanting to let him go. 

In fact, suddenly he wishes for more contact, more closeness. He wants to stay there, above Hinata, sharing body heat and oxygen. His grin slides off his face and he feels his heart begin to beat painfully. 

Hinata stops laughing. 

“Kageyama?” he questions apprehensively as he must notice Kageyama’s sudden shift in mood. His throat bops as he swallows. 

“Yeah?” he answers. It comes out as a whisper and he vaguely wonders why he suddenly feels so overwrought. 

“Are you going to let me go?” Hinata asks, biting his lip nervously. 

“Maybe.”

Hinata swallows once more at this vague answer. His eyes flood with some emotion Kageyama can’t quite recognise. He registers that Hinata’s grip on his arms has slacked; his hands now are sliding further up, past his elbow and settling on his shoulders. His fingers pull Tobio’s body just a little closer to his own. 

Their eyes meet, pupils blown out from low lighting and alcohol. 

Hinata lifts his head slowly, leaning in just a little as the small space between them begins to lessen. He’s so close now Kageyama can see his faint freckles, like constellations scattered across his alcohol-flushed cheeks. He looks adorable. It’s this realisation that causes Kageyama to swallow hard before dipping his head just a fraction nearer, closing the gap between them even more. He shuts his eyes. 

A loud bang causes them both to jump, breaking their close proximity. Kageyama scrambles off Hinata in a flash, backing away to the opposite side of the bed, just as the door swings open and crashes loudly into the wall. 

“Ah, Tobio-chan!” Oikawa cries as he bursts into the room. He’s definitely wasted, as he stumbles towards Kageyama with almost no balance, crashing into him at the last moment. 

“Your face is spinning!” Oikawa grins as he reaches out to tap Kageyama’s cheeks. ‘Why are you so red, Tobio?’ 

Kageyama frowns, grabbing onto his wrists to stop him from poking his face. Oikawa just whines a little, mumbling something incoherent about wanting Iwa. Kageyama just ignores him, peering past his shoulder at Hinata. 

He’s not looking at him. Instead he gazes at the wall, his face bright red, his eyebrows furrowed, his body physically twisted away from Kageyama like he’s some sort of contagious disease. Kageyama freezes. They had a moment, no doubt about that, yet from the look on Hinata’s face and the fact he’s refusing to so much as glance at Kageyama's direction is indication enough that Hinata is feeling all too regretful. 

Kageyama can’t say it doesn’t sting. A part of him, the same part that flutters inside his chest whenever he catches Hinata looking at him too long, or when their legs brush under a table, or even during something as mundane as watching the way he drinks coffee, that part wanted to lean in that little closer, just enough so that their lips touched even briefly. Yes, Hinata is undoubtedly an annoying brat and Kageyama enjoys nothing more than making his life a living misery, but at the same time, he’s magnetic. No matter how much Kageyama tries to pull away and convince himself that he dislikes Hinata, he finds that he always, always, always gravitates towards his presence. 

But, judging from Hinata’s appalled face, the feelings mustn't be mutual. 

The room lapses into a tense quiet, Oikawa’s occasional hiccups being the only sound audacious enough to pierce the thick layers of heavily awkward silence. Oikawa appears to be dozing off on Kageyama’s shoulder, which does nothing to help the already uncomfortable situation. Hinata’s gaze still belongs to the wall, his stare so intense it seems as if it will burn a hole right through. 

The sound of approaching footsteps echo through the hot room and once again the door is violently thrown back on its hinges. This time, an angry looking Iwaizumi stands in the frame. He takes one look at the drowsy Oikawa hiccuping into Kageyama’s jumper and seems to explode. He marches towards them, fists clenched. 

“There he is, the slimy bastard,” he cries, as he prises Oikawa off Kageyama. “I told him to control his alcohol intake, the idiot.”

Kageyama, secretly pleased about the distraction Iwaizumi’s outburst has created, helps the older man arrange Oikawa in a way so that his weight is fully supported. He looks quite comical, hanging limply off Iwaizumi’s shoulders and if Kageyama were in any other sort of mood, he would be inclined to laugh. 

He goes to look at Hinata again, but finds the smaller man’s previous spot to have been vacated. He must have dashed for the door whilst he was preoccupied with helping Iwaizumi. Oh dear. Kageyama knows he messed up big time, he really, really knows it, and Hinata probably hates him for almost kissing him. He doesn’t like the sound of dwelling on this unfavourable, unrequited kiss thing so he resolves to shove it in the back of his mind for now. 

When he finally emerges from Kenma’s room, helping Iwaizumi support Oikawa, he doesn’t see Hinata at all in the crowd of people. He does, however, see a sketchy looking Atsumu regard him suspiciously from where he loiters near the kitchen. Great. No doubt Hinata has blabbed all about the “moment” they had almost as soon as he had escaped the confinements of Kenma’s room and now Atsumu is appointed to act as a guard while he hides. Kageyama scowls, embarrassment flooding into him. 

Iwaizumi must notice his angry expression, as he looks at him with narrowed eyes.

“You okay?”

Kageyama bites his lip. He feels frustrated, unbelievably uncomfortable and embarrassed. A familiar coldness seems to seep into him; it’s almost as if someone has just poured icy water into his lungs. He digs his nails into his palms. 

“No,” he hears himself stutter. “Can we leave?”

“Sure.” Iwaizumi shrugs. “Do you not want to say goodbye to Hinata?”

Kageyama numbly shakes his head. The room feels too hot and too full and too suffocating and the urge to leave it is overwhelming. 

“It’s ok, Kageyama,” Iwa tells him as he pulls Oikawa and Kageyama towards the exit.   
“We’re nearly out.”

Kageyama just stumbles after him blindly. Iwaizumi throws open the door to the apartment, and they all escape out into the corridor. Almost at an instant, cool air hits Kageyama’s face and he drinks it in greedily. He slumps against a wall, his eyes closed and his fists clenched. 

“Is Tobio-chan ok?” he hears Oikawa mumble from where he’s clinging onto Iwaizumi. 

“Yeah, he’s ok,” Iwaizumi replies. 

They walk home slowly. Kageyama stares pointedly ahead, ignoring the looks of curiosity he knows he’s receiving from Iwaizumi. He refuses to let his mind stray incase it wanders off into dangerous reminiscing, so instead he focuses on simple tasks like putting one foot in front of the other. It helps, and his frustration seems to subside a little. 

As soon as they arrive back at their apartment, Kageyama heads straight for bed, crawling under the covers still wearing the clothes Oikawa let him borrow. He finds, as he lies in the dark, that sleep doesn’t come easily tonight. The weight of the evening presses down upon his brain like some unwanted presence. Fuck. He knew going to that party was going to be a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks 4 reading as always!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come and get dinner with me,” Hinata exclaims, cutting him off. His face looks earnest, a little nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoy haha..

_Hinata stands on the small platform, blinking out into the crowd. He looks tiny, a solitary figure clutching a guitar almost half his size. Kageyama hovers near the back, fingers quivering as he watches the man with the bright orange curls swaying a little on his feet in elation. Hinata’s eyes are drinking in the crowd, taking in all the heads that are turned towards him; there are masses and masses of strangers gazing up at him with glassy eyes as if he’s the very centre of the universe. There’s something pulsating around the air, everything seems to tremble with anticipation as the small singer adjusts his guitar and beams into the crowd. Kageyama can feel the warmth radiating off the man, and he shivers under the harsh intensity of pure joy._

_Hinata, still smiling, does a quiet sweep of the room. His eyes meet Kageyama’s._

_Suddenly, the room starts to shift. The comforting heat seems to disappear, replaced instead by a hostile chill. Hinata’s eyes bore into him, cold, unfriendly and brimming with a deep sense of loathing. Gone is the happy man who beamed into the crowd. Now, he looks furious, disgusted, as if the mere sight of Kageyama fills him with such abhor._

_Kageyama can’t move. He just watches in despair as Hinata raises a finger and points at him accusingly._

_“You nearly kissed me,” Hinata bellows. Kageyama stands rigid under his outpouring of vitriol._

_“I don’t want to see you again, Kageyama,” Hinata continues. All faces are turned towards him at this point, sharp glares and furious scowls._

_“Go away, Kageyama,” Hinata yells. But he can’t move. He goes to run but his legs won’t work._

_“Do you hear me Kageyama?” Hinata screams. “Kageyama, do you hear me?”_

“Kageyama!”

Kageyama jolts awake.

He’s in his bed and, judging from the bright light flooding into his room, it's late morning. Iwaizumi stands over him, one hand shaking his shoulder.

“God, Kageyama. I’ve been trying to wake you for ages,” Iwaizumi glares, crossing his arms in a huff. Kageyama sits up further, rubbing a shaky hand across his forehead.

“What time is it?” he asks.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “It’s half one,” he answers bluntly.

Kageyama bolts up. “Half one?” he cries in despair. He flies across to his wardrobe in a panic, pulling out clothes at the speed of light. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He has a volleyball practice schedule at 2, and it takes longer than half an hour to reach the gym.

“Take a shower,” Iwaizumi commands. “You look gross.”

Kageyama huffs as he barges past him. He races to the bathroom, vaguely hearing a very hungover Oikawa groan loudly from his bedroom as he dashes by.

It takes him about 5 minutes to shower and shove on his training stuff. He grabs a bottle of water, his keys and manages to scoff down a banana as he ties his shoelaces. As he sprints to the practice gym, he barely has any distractions anymore to prevent his brain from thinking about that dream he had. Hinata’s look of disdain is projected permanently in his view, and it hurts his head even thinking about it. His dream amplified last night’s events to seem even worse now; a callous voice in his head tells him that Hinata in real life probably mirrors the same level of disgust as the Hinata in his dream. The very doubt increases his splenetic temper.

Practice doesn't go as well as he hoped. He knows he’s slightly out of sync, he knows his serves are a little off, he knows he’s being short with his teammates. But his brain is thumping with irritation, and everyone seems to just be in his way. Every so often he’ll think he catches a flash of orange and his mind will go ballistic again.

He finds himself relieved when practice is finished, a notion so out of character for him that he curses himself over it. He’s trudges to the locker room, his head pounding and his body weary. Someone taps him on the shoulder, and one of his teammates informs him that some worried looking guy is waiting for him outside. He drinks his water angrily. The only person who knew he was going to practice was Iwaizumi, so he assumes he’s come to check up on him. God, he can’t be bothered to deal with Iwaizumi’s concern at the moment.

He considers ducking out the fire exit to avoid him but he reckons the older man will probably just get angry at having to wait around. Iwaizumi watched him walk out the door this morning so it’s not as if he can just pretend he never went to practice.

He jogs out of the changing rooms and over to the direction of the main exit, a large doorway on the other side of the gym.

“Kageyama!” A loud voice echoes around the gym, coming from where the bathrooms are behind him. It’s obnoxiously high, like a little child’s, and it certainly doesn’t sound like Iwaizumi. Kageyama freezes. Surely not?

He goes to turn around, but he’s knocked off guard as he feels a large force make contact with his back. He loses his balance and is sent reeling to the floor. He lands painfully.

“Kageyama,” Hinata wails. He’s wrapped his entire body around Kageyama like he’s some sort of tree; his face is pressed up against his shoulder blades and his legs wrapped around his waist.

“Hinata?” Kageyama yells and he forcefully tries to remove Hinata from his back. But Hinata just clings on tighter, pressing his face into him so hard it actually begins to hurt.

“Get off me!” he demands with vociferation. Hinata just shakes his head.

“Dumbass, let me go.” He manages to get up from off the floor, but Hinata is still clinging onto his back like some little monkey.

“Not until we talk,” Hinata mumbles into his shoulders.

“You are such a brat,” Kageyama hisses. He vaguely is aware that they are still in the gym and probably now under the scrutiny of his teammates emerging from the locker rooms, so he makes his way outside with Hinata still wrapped around him. Once they are far away from the gym, Kageyama stops walking.

“I’ll talk if you get off,” he says bluntly. Hinata just nods and slides off him, landing gracefully on his feet.

They stand in silence for a few moments.

Kageyama frowns, then clears his throat. “Hinata, look-”

“Come and get dinner with me,” Hinata exclaims, cutting him off. His face looks earnest, a little nervous, and represents nothing even remotely close to the impression of horror from Kageyama’s dream.

“Dinner?” Kageyama asks incredulously, narrowing his eyes at Hinata. Hinata looks anxiously off to the side.

“Yeah. I want to buy you food to make up for.. stuff,” he cries, jumping nervously from foot to foot.

“Make up for stuff?” Kageyama wonders out loud. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know..” Hinata answers vaguely, waving his hand in the air. “I’ll explain during dinner. If you come?”

Kageyama frowns in thought. On one hand, he doesn’t particularly want to go anywhere with Hinata; heavy awkwardness still burns away at him and the idea of having to endure a painfully uncomfortable conversation on what happened at the party doesn’t sound appealing. However, on the flip side, passing up the offer of food is like a capital crime. Also, he is curious as to what Hinata has to say. If Hinata no longer wants to associate with him anymore, at least it can end communally. It’ll probably help him get over these stupid feelings that have been bugging him. Maybe he should hear him out? He sets his jaw as he makes up his mind.

“Fine, dumbass. But I don’t have any money with me,” Kageyama breathes out, nodding curtly. Hinata’s anxious face breaks out into a huge smile, the sort that causes that specific part of Kageyama to combust.

“That’s ok. I’ll pay,” he grins.

Hinata takes him to some restaurant only a few blocks away. It’s very Hinata-like, Kageyama thinks as he ducks a little to get through the door. It’s not exactly posh, more cute. The tables have some brightly coloured patterned cloth thrown over them, and mini little succulents with yellow striped pots are assigned to each surface. There’s a banner stretching across the entire width of the room with cute little lanterns hanging off it. There are only a few people in, and the atmosphere feels casual and friendly, which helps Kageyama feel a little less uncomfortable rocking up in sports gear.

The pair are directed to their seats, which is placed in front of a huge handmade vintage poster of the world map. Hinata fiddles with the lamented menu, commenting on the pros and cons of each dish. Kageyama snaps at him, telling him to be quiet and just pick a goddamn meal, to which he responds by sticking his tongue out at him.

Their meals arrive, hot and steaming and smelling incredible. They take no time in tucking in, it’s just a fury of chopsticks and greedy mouths as they both chomp down the food at an astonishing rate. Kageyama isn’t really sure at what point this happens, but suddenly it becomes a competition as to who can finish their meal the fastest. All memory of the real reason they both find themselves here is pushed to the side as both parties require the uttermost focus to digest their food as fast as humanly possible.

Hinata slams his chopsticks against his bowl, a loud clanking noise to accompany his hoots of joy.

“I win!” he cries. Kageyama swallows his last mouthful and hits his fist against the table in fury. He glares at Hinata, whose mouth is absolutely covered with little pieces of rice. Upon inspection, it seems that Hinata’s entire side of the table is littered with rice too.

“Not fair. You haven't even eaten half your meal,” he snaps, pointing at the mess Hinata has made on the table. Hinata turns pink with annoyance as he crosses his arms.

“There’s only like 4 pieces. You’ve got some on your face too,” he retorts. Kageyama mirrors his blush, quickly wiping a hand across his face. Sure enough, small fragments of rice come lazily spinning off from around his mouth. He groans in frustration.

“Ha! I beat you again.” Hinata beams, extending his arms out in celebration.

“Again?” Kageyama challenges.

“Yup. Beat you at Mario Kart last night too,” Hinata says excitedly. His face falls however, as he realises he’s brought up the dreaded events of the previous evening. Kageyama lets out a quiet oh as they both relapse into silence. Hinata absently plays with his fingers, a habit Kageyama has noticed he tends to do whenever he has something to say but doesn’t quite know how to say it. Kageyama waits for him to gather his thoughts because god forbid he has no idea how to start the conversation.

“Uh. Kageyama I-” Hinata trails off as he scratches the inside of his palm nervously. “I just wanted to say sorry, for, um..you know.”

Kageyama swallows. He had almost forgotten the inevitable confrontation that needed to take place- with it being prolonged in the wake of good food- but now the memory of his actions at the party has reared its ugly head back up in his brain. He’s furious at himself for what he did that evening: allowing his feelings to get the best of him for one selfish second. Hinata was tipsy; his willingness was only there because of the alcohol. Yet Kageyama let himself be tricked into believing that maybe he actually wanted to kiss him. What’s worse, he ignored Hinata after nearly forcing himself onto the smaller man; he favoured leaving with Iwaizumi and Oikawa over seeking him out and sorting things over. He wants to verbalise that all; he wants Hinata to know that he’s a fool and he’ll back off if he thinks his strange feelings towards him are weird. He wants to apologise too. But Kageyama was never good with words.

Instead, Hinata does the talking.

“Kageyama, I shouldn’t have tried to pressurise you into anything,” Hinata mumbles, eyes downcast. “And I shouldn’t have run off without saying anything. You just backed off so quickly, and I was really embarrassed in case you thought I was creepy and-”

“Hang on,” Kageyama says suddenly, causing Hinata to jump a little. His brain slowly processes the things that have just come spilling out of the smaller man’s mouth. “You didn’t pressurise me to do anything?” Kageyama says with a frown. “I thought it was the other way round.” Hinata meets his eyes, his face etched with confusion. He numbly shakes his head.

“No, I leaned in first..” Hinata says hesitantly. “The way you backed away from me afterwards..I thought you were mad that I tried to push you closer?”

Kageyama mulls this thought over in his head, frown deepening as he tries to piece it all together.

“But, you were drunk? I thought it was only the alcohol that made you lean in?” Kageyama asks with a pout. He swears he’s right; it’s beyond him why Hinata is trying to vouch otherwise. He folds his arms, giving Hinata a glare.

“No, Kageyama,” Hinata returns the glare. “I was barely drunk. In fact, I was far more sober than you.”

“But you were all hyper and extra annoying?” Kageyama remembers the way he zoomed around the room with a grimace.

“It’s called being excited, stupid. Parties make me feel super happy,” Hinata retorts.

“But, like, what about the..sitting on my lap and stuff,” Kageyama mumbles, casting his eyes away.

Hinata turns red. He swallows deeply. “I was feeling daring, ok? Plus, I thought you were way drunker than you apparently were, so I figured you would barely remember it anyway.” He fiddles with the edge of the tablecloth a little. “I’m sorry, Kageyama. I took advantage of you. I know that sort of stuff makes you uncomfortable, especially when it’s me. I don’t know why I thought this time would be different from all the others.”

Kageyama sits there for a while, in an almost shell-shocked state. Others? Why was Hinata implying that there had been other times in which they had a moment? Kageyama has no recollection of any other occasion where they had come as close as they had the previous evening. So what the fuck was he alluding to?

“What on earth do you mean? What other times?” he challenges, snapping a little too forcefully judging from the way Hinata jerks his head up.

“Oh, come on. Don’t make this difficult, Kageyama. You know what I mean,” Hinata squeaks, scowling at the table.

Kageyama is at a loss, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. His slow brain genuinely can’t comprehend anything. He folds his arms and leans in a little bit, shaking the table.

“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about,” he says with gritted teeth.

“For god’s sake Kageyama!” Hinata seems to explode with anger. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been trying to make moves on you from the minute I saw you. Like when I invited you back to my shop, despite only knowing you for a matter of hours? Or when I randomly showed up to your apartment and nearly had a heart attack when you came in all sweaty and shirtless? How about when I sang for you, huh? All the times I’ve tried to play footsies with you? All the goodnight texts? The free coffees? The lingering glances? The sudden possessiveness whenever Atsumu flirts with you?”

Hinata chews on his lip momentarily, before diving right back in.

“You are such an asshole, a big, frowny, nasty asshole who just insults me like there’s no tomorrow, and I really, really can’t stand you. The amount of times I want to kick you in the shins is overwhelming.” The redhead stops for a second, just to catch his breath.

“But I like you, ok? I like you so much. And I’ve hinted this at you so many times and every single time you freeze up. My hand brushes yours and you act like you’ve just been shot. We stare for a little too long and you have to look away. But then you’ll do something to give me hope again, like stay at the coffee shop hours after closing time or accidently compliment me and I’ll think that maybe I do have a chance and I’ll try again with the flirting. Yet I’m shot down every single time. So, yeah, Kageyama, I’m sorry for crossing the line and trying to kiss you. At least, I now know for sure that these feelings are just one-sided.”

He stops here, cheeks blazing and lip quivering. His gaze is nowhere close to meeting Kageyama’s; instead he stares determinedly down at the floor.

Kageyama blinks. His brain seems to be moving in slow motion, Hinata’s long speech filtering in painfully letter by letter. He can’t believe it. He knew he was pretty stupid when it came to people, but he had no idea he could be this dense. Hinata likes him. Hinata has liked him all along. Hinata had tried to kiss him, not because of the alcohol but because he _wanted_ him.

Kageyama looks at the boy in front of him. His head is bowed low so that his bright curls tumbled their way across his face. His chest rises and falls with every sharp intake of breath and his fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt. He looks tiny, slumped in the chair with hunched shoulders.

Kageyama drops his hands under the table and with trembling fingers, he reaches out and gently tugs at Hinata’s nervous grip on the bottom of his shirt. He eases his fingers off the fabric and pulls his hands towards him. He hears Hinata let out a shuddering breath as he intertwines their fingers, concealed beneath the table cloth. They are both shaking slightly.

Hinata rears his head quickly, his mouth hanging open in surprise. Kageyama shifts awkwardly under his stare, and the urge to slack into a familiar scowl is great. However, insead he swallows nervously, realising how tight his throat feels.

“Hinata,” he grumbles. “I like you too, dumbass.”

“Oh,” Hinata squeaks. “Oh.” he repeats, with a little less shake in his voice.

Kageyama just nods once, his brows falling into a half-frown, the sort he wears when he’s concentrating especially hard. The feeling of Hinata’s fingers pressed against his is overwhelming; the softness of his skin occupies his entire mind.

Hinata stares at him, biting his lip as if he’s still struggling to process it all.

“Are you kidding me, Kageyama?” he suddenly wails, digging his nails into Kageyama’s knuckles.

“Ow,” Kageyama yelps, letting go of his fingers in an instant. He pulls his hands swiftly out from under the table, and is presented with 8 deep nail marks etched in the back of his knuckles. “What the fuck, dumbass?” he snaps loudly, rubbing his hands.

“I can’t believe it,” Hinata cries. “You like me back? All those times I flirted, you LIKED me back? Oh my god, I hate you so much.” He aims a kick for Kageyama’s leg, but Kageyama reacts almost instantly, reaching down and catching his foot just before it makes contact.

“I didn’t know you were flirting!” he spits, squeezing Hinata’s ankle violently. Hinata yelps and pulls his foot away.

“You didn’t know I was flirting?” Hinata splutters in disbelief, staring at him with wide eyes. Kageyama can’t return his gaze, favouring the table surface to look at.

“No. I thought all the glances and foot brushing were coincidences,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Hinata says, suddenly quiet.

Then, Kageyama feels Hinata’s fingers brush against his, as the smaller man mirrors his previous action and reaches out for him under the table.

“This isn’t a coincidence,” Hinata smiles once Kageyama lifts up his head. He slots their fingers together. Hinata’s thumb finds its way down Kageyama’s wrist and it settles there, gently running over the skin.

They leave the restaurant pretty quickly after that, bolting out the building almost as soon as the money is exchanged. It’s late afternoon when they step out; the sun has sunk down to a warm gold, painting all the surrounding grass and pavement with a deep burnt orange glow. The restaurant is located in an empty part on the outskirts of the city, situated outside a pretty unknown park. The lack of people, besides the odd pre-occupied runner is probably the reason why Hinata doesn’t let go of Kageyama’s hand once as he leads him through a little patch of trees.

“You don’t have to be back anytime soon, do you?” Hinata asks, as he takes them over a pretty bridge. Kageyama just shakes his head.

Hinata grins. “Good.”

“What about the coffee shop?” Kageyama asks. “Are you not working?”

“Obviously not. I decided to close it today.”

Hinata pulls him towards a small bench, nestled in between two slender birch trees. The seat faces out into the sun, meaning it’s completely bathed in the liquid gold. It’s relatively hidden, placed on an inconspicuous little path. Hinata pushes Kageyama down onto it and, without missing a beat, jumps onto his lap.

He presses his hands into Kageyama’s shoulders, and fixes him with his most dazzling look, mouth stretched out into a wide smile. Kageyama can barely breathe as he slowly slides his hands down so that they hold at Hinata’s waist, supporting his weight a little.

“Hey, Kageyama?” Hinata asks, his eyes searching his face. “What?” “When did you start liking me?”

Kageyama scoffs. “That’s a pointless question,” he states.

“Why?” Hinata looks a little hurt as he pouts his lips. He squirms on Kageyama’s lap, feeling unsure.

Kageyama doesn’t really want to answer but he feels a little guilty under Hinata’s earnest glare.

“Fuck. I liked you the moment I saw you, ok? I think so, anyway,” he growls. Hinata glows at this, his face lighting up again instantly. Kageyama frowns. “Of course, I then heard you speak the following week and suddenly all interest left me,” he states.

Hinata pushes at his shoulders, sticking his tongue out. “You’re lying. Otherwise you wouldn’t have stayed all night talking to me,” he exclaims.

Kageyama can’t help it. He smiles, just for a brief second.

Hinata almost falls off his lap in shock. If Kageyama hadn’t had a hold of his waist, he definitely would have been sent tumbling to the floor.

“You smiled,” Hinata whispers, once he regains his balance. One of his hands leaves Kageyama’s shoulder and he reaches out to Kageyama’s face, his fingers tracing his cheeks where the smile had flickered across. Kageyama holds his breath, gripping subconsciously tighter onto Hinata’s waist as gentle fingertips graze his face. Hinata’s eyes are trained on him as he moves his fingers inches to the side so that they come to hover slightly on Kageyama’s bottom lip.

“I liked you the moment I saw you too,” Hinata murmurs softly. “You were sitting in the audience, and I remember catching your eye. You see, it’s normally dark when I look out from a stage, but for some reason, I saw you with absolute clarity. And god, you were so attractive.”

Kageyama involuntarily gulps. He pulls Hinata in closer by his waist and his hands slide to his back. Hinata leans forward, fingers still lightly brushing Kageyama’s bottom lip. He rests his forehead on Kageyama’s, pressing his bangs flat between them.

“Still think this is a coincidence?” Hinata giggles softly as he takes his other hand off from Kageyama’s shoulder, bringing it up to settle hesitantly on his jaw.

“Shut up,” Kageyama growls. He pushes forward, having all the resolution he needs, and presses his lips against Hinata’s.

They slide together scarily well, soft and warm. Hinata tilts his head, pushing against Kageyama’s mouth hard, really hard. It’s as if he’s dying for his kiss, the way he leans into it as if there’s isn’t enough contact in the world to satisfy him. Kageyama lets him pry open his mouth with his adventurous tongue, an invitation Hinata takes up with a desperate quickness. Kageyama can’t help but shudder with the sensation of Hinata licking into the warmth of his mouth. He laps at Kageyama as his hand grips onto his jaw even tighter. In response, Kageyama lets his hand wander up underneath Hinata’s shirt, fingers roaming around, exploring his skin.

Kageyama suddenly pulls away. He gazes at Hinata, his heart hammering painfully at the sight before him. Hinata is basked in the evening sun; his tousled curls seem even more vivid and his eyes look like shining gold under the brilliance of the scintillating light. Kageyama takes it all in: his glistening, red lips, pooling with drool, his blown out pupils, his desire for more.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Hinata breathes. Kageyama brings his hands up and cups Hinata’s cheeks. The redhead winds his legs around Kageyama’s torso and leans against his forehead, panting a little.

Kageyama tilts down, brushing their mouths together once more. It’s softer this time, light and gentle. He does it again and again until they relapse back into more intense kissing, open mouthed and sloppy. Tongues slide and teeth clash. Hinata whimpers against Kageyama, nails digging into his jaw. He gnaws a little at Kageyama’s bottom lip, a notion which causes the taller man to jolt a little at the waves of shock the bite evokes. He feels Hinata grin, biting down a little harder. Kageyama can’t help it, he hisses in pleasure. Hinata licks at his lips as he rocks forward on his lap, eliciting a low groan.

“Kageyama,” Hinata murmurs as he pulls away. Kageyama just hums in response as he dips his head lower and begins nosing at Hinata's neck, pressing light kisses as he goes. Now the desire has truly kicked in and Kageyama wants, no he _needs_ , contact.

“Hey Kageyama,” Hinata pulls his face up so they are eye to eye. “Come back to my apartment.”

It only registers to him then that they are in a public space. He regards the heat that had just begun to build up in his pants with a jolt of guilt. Not trusting himself to answer verbally, he just nods at Hinata’s offer.

Hinata squirms off his lap and Kageyama feels a pang at the loss of his weight. Hinata reaches out and grabs his hand, yanking him off the bench and skipping down the path at an alarming speed.

“Can I just grab something from the coffee shop before we go?” Hinata requests as he hurries through the park. His tone seems too breezy, causing Kageyama to eye him suspiciously.

“What do you need from there?” he asks.

“Something Atsumu left there for me. I think he got it as a joke, but it could come in handy,” Hinata giggles, squeezing Kageyama’s hand tighter. “You’ll find out when we get there. It’s on the way anyhow.”

Kageyama just silently agrees by winding his arms around Hinata’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest as they walk. He can barely contain himself through the entire duration of the journey. He buries his head into Hinata's neck, sucking kisses into the back of his skin again and again. Hinata half-moans, half-giggles, trying to push him off weakly. He’s nestled right in his arms, his curls brushing up against Kageyama’s chin. They stagger down into the familiar streets approaching the coffee shop, stopping every so often to brush their lips together briefly. The streets are practically empty, with the day fast approaching night and most people appear to be spending late Sunday evening at home.

When they finally reach the right street, neither are paying attention to their surroundings. Instead, Hinata has his gaze firmly set on Kageyama, his eyes filled with a silent need. He walks backwards, Kageyama’s arms are set firmly around his waist to give him balance. Hinata traces circles with his fingers against Kageyama’s jaw, his eyes searching his own. They are both so engrossed with each other that, just as they reach the coffee shop, they barely notice the sudden loud crunch underneath their feet. But something evokes Kageyama to shift his gaze reluctantly down to the ground, lazily attempting to identify what they both just stepped in.

It’s glass. Lots of it.

His eyes follow the trial of glass. Panic sets in, deep, white, searing panic, when he realises it leads all the way up to Hinata’s store.

“N-no,” he stutters. Shock possesses his body; he can barely keep his weight up as the world just seems to distort.

The coffee shop is completely and utterly destroyed.

The entire front window has been smashed, littering shards and shards of glass all over the pavement. Like a gaping mouth, the massive jagged hole reveals that the insides of the store have suffered the same acts of vicious savagery. The shelves have been torn off the walls, crates all sent crashing down to the floor. The tables are upturned; plants lie dead and torn up in pools of dry soil. Broken plates are scattered everywhere, the bright colourful plates Hinata himself had hand painted. Now nothing but shards. The fairy lights have been cut into little pieces and thrown over the agglomeration on the floor like confetti. Most of the records have been taken, although a few are discarded, snapped in half and trampled on. Sprawled on the floor is the cash register, having been pulled off the counter. It’s bruised and hanging wide open. Kageyama doesn’t even have to look closely to know it is completely empty.

His eyes shift to something bigger, lying dejected in the middle of the floor. With a stab of pain, Kageyama realises what it is. A guitar. It’s been bashed in, the wood is splintering, the strings are completely smashed and the neck has been dismantled. It doesn’t even represent an instrument anymore, just an oddly shaped lump of wood. But, that’s Hinata’s guitar; Kageyama would recognise it anywhere. It’s the guitar he’s had since a child, the first guitar he ever learned how to play. It’s the guitar he brings out on stage with him, it’s the guitar he handles with such a beautiful level of fondness. It may have been old, worn, but it was Hinata’s everything. Now, it’s slammed against the floor, utterly devastated.

Hinata...

Kageyama feels the man in his arms turn around.

Hinata.

There’s a low whimper, piercing and hollow. It sounds broken, raw, and resembles nothing to the bright, gleeful, carefree orange haired man he knew. It burns into Kageyama; he feels as though he’s being eviscerated. God, it burns.

Hinata sags in Kageyama embrace. The weight proves too much, and Kageyama loses his balance, sending them both collapsing to the floor. They sit amongst the lethal fragments of the ruined window. All the bubbling happiness experienced just a few previous, naive minutes ago is now evaporating, giving in to the wrath of overwhelming numbness.

Kageyama grips onto Hinata, holding him staggeringly tight against him. He presses his face in his hair, mouthing silent whispers of solace into the soft curls, just reminding him wordlessly that he’s there and he’s not letting go. Kageyama feels Hinata struggling, shaking, begging, whimpering, sobbing in his arms, as the harsh edge of realisation plummets into the smaller man. His shop. His money. His records. His guitar. All of it lies crumbled, horrifically pulled apart and ravaged until all that’s left is the rubble of broken memories and obliterated joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sry


End file.
